A Good Conversation
by Esca Madeline
Summary: For the RED team, talking was the only way to get their boy Engineer to open up.
1. RED Pyro

Disclaimer: TF2 is owned by Valve.

**Part One: RED Pyro**

The morning was deceitfully fresh, the sun traitorously bright and cheerful. Morning mist still clung about the ground, but the sunlight had already begun to dapple the forest floor gold, shining through dew-covered, translucent leaves on trees and reflecting off of them with an almost unworldly shimmer.

For all the warmth of the sunlight, though, the atmosphere around the Lumberyard was ice-cold.

The Boy blinked as the newly-risen sun glared down on his closed eyelids. Yawning, he lifted his hands to rub his sleepy eyes, only to pause when he remembered that they were bound together tightly with thick ropes. He shook his head slightly, his gaze meeting the back of a gas-masked head bobbing up and down as its red-clad wearer trudged back and forth in the hallway outside his room.

His room. The Boy sat up, wincing at the pain in his back as he realized that his legs were bound as well. He was in a cold, steel room, with only a tiny barred window serving as his only view to the outside world.

This was no room. The word "cell" would have been a more accurate description, but that would have meant that he was a prisoner, and surely he wasn't a prisoner.

All the memories of the past twelve hours or so returned to him then, and he looked back towards the open hallway. He could hear the muffled breathing of the masked guard outside, the guard who was holding a rather menacing looking flamethrower in his gloved hands as he stared opaquely at the young Boy sitting in front of him.

For a moment, there was a tension was so thick that it could have been cut with a knife. Then, the Boy bowed his head with a smile.

"Good morning," the Boy greeted respectfully. He didn't find his actions strange. His teachers had taught him to always be polite to another person, even if said person _was _holding him in a dingy little cell against his will, even if he _was _being held captive, prisoner, hostage or whatnot. And he wasn't a prisoner. He wasn't. "And how are you today?"

"…" The masked guard stared at him stonily, but made no attempt to answer.

"I'm fine, thank you for asking," the Boy went on, seemingly undeterred as a small grin pushed its way past his lips. "And you? You're a…um…you're a Pyrotechnician, right? I've always wanted to meet a real professional! Pleasure to meet you!"

There was no response.

"You're a great conversationalist, you know that?" The Boy lifted his bound hands to his face and scratched his nose, taking a moment more to brush a strand of dark hair from his eyes. "So, so, so…what's your name? Do we go by names or titles around here? They didn't really brief me on the off-duty rules before I left my bunk."

There was no response.

"You do have a name, don't you? You know…a name? Um, _nom_? _Namai_? Come on, sir…or ma'am. Please? Work with me here, I need someone to talk to. It's a terrible thing to have no one to talk to."

The Pyro looked away, seemingly bored. He already had a mental measure of the Boy, and it was in the fire lover's opinion that the child talked far too much.

"…fine, you great prune."

The Boy huffed, seemingly insulted as he tried his best to crawl over to the window. The Pyro's head snapped up, his flamethrower aimed and ready to ignite should the child proved to be a handful. However, the Boy merely pulled himself to his feet (which was accomplished through a combination of ridiculous lifts by the teeth and calculated jumps and falls that made the Pyro grin slightly behind his mask, despite himself) and the Boy breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he finally stared through the bars to the world outside.

"Jolly good," the Boy remarked, his eyes darting from the forest edge to the cleared grounds outside of the building. "That rain washed away all that blood in a jiffy." The Boy paused, before he laughed. "A rain to wash the world clean. I should write that down."

The Pyro stared at the boy, cocking his head to the side curiously.

"Come here and see this, Bob! Everything looks so wonderful!"

Bob?

The masked man's eye twitched slightly, and his finger suddenly flexed against the trigger of his flamethrower. _Bob_? Who the hell was Bob person, and why was this child calling him that bland excuse of a name?

"You don't mind if I call you Bob, do you?" the Boy asked cheerfully, oblivious to the fact that his guard was becoming agitated. "I knew a Bob once, but he was ugly as a pug and insulted me every chance he got. But you're nice. You don't insult me, and I bet you're a handsome devil under that mask to boot. I bet you're a real ladies' man, Bob."

"…" The Pyro stared at his weapon and briefly weighed the options in his head. Would anyone really care if he roasted the kid alive, right this minute? Chances were high that they were going to kill him anyway, so why not do it now and get the suffering over with?

"Really want to thank you for looking out for me last night, by the way," the Boy went on, looking back and smiling at the fire lover. "That's your job, right? Protecting me? Though I don't know why you guys went and tied me up…but this is just some sort of introductory ritual into the team, right? I read about those in a book once. Good job, Bob."

"…" What was wrong with this boy? Did he really not care that he was in enemy territory?

The Boy stared out the window again, and sighed. "I'm so glad they sent me to the Lumberyard. The greenery is a nice change from all that steel and dust, even if things do get a bit over roasted here from the lack of water. Ooh, come here, Bob! I think I see that tree you cooked up during the battle!"

The Pyro hesitated for a moment. All he was ordered to do was watch the idiot; he was under no obligation to humor him. He didn't have to stand for any of this…but, going against his better judgment, he found himself walking up behind the Boy and peering over the child's shoulders, glimpsing the bright blue sky through the charred branches of a tree that he had personally set on fire yesterday.

The fire lover found himself grinning sadistically. Yes, until the Boy's unexpected intrusion, yesterday's battle had gone _exceptionally _well for him.

"You'd never know that there was a war here half a day back, would you?" the Boy commented, his cheerful smile seemingly plastered eternally on his youthful face. "And the rain put out all the fires from the grenades I threw! That's good. I was kind of worried that I would end up destroying the whole forest…"

"Mmph," the Pyro agreed, nodding his head up and down. The Boy let out a bark of delight.

"Aha! So you do speak! Thought you were a mute for a minute there!"

The Pyro rolled his eyes from behind the gas mask. Great. Now the Boy wanted to talk. Oh well… "Mmph mphna mprh nyha."

"Eh? I am not a child! Take that back!" The Boy's cheeks puffed slightly as his bottom lip jutted out in a pout, making him look more childish than ever. "I helped you guys beat the enemy yesterday, remember?"

"Mmmph nyhaaa mphhhh. Mgh mmph mffph mmmph nfffph."

The boy gasped in a mixture of astonishment and disbelief. "I didn't randomly throw the grenades, you prune! I aimed! Okay, so my aim was a bit off, but still! I hit that other Pyro and that Heavy, didn't I?"

The Pyro grimaced as he remembered the limping Heavy and the near dead BLU Pyro. Near dead, and still _alive_. "Mmph mmmmmagh."

The Boy paused, his fingers frozen above his nose in mid-scratch. "We were aiming to kill?"

"…mya…" The Pyro stared at the Boy warily. Surely he didn't believe that they didn't aim to kill, did he? No. No one at the Fortress was that stupid, and he personally knew some very stupid people.

"Gosh." Frowning, the Boy bit his lip, looking very uncertain as he pressed a finger hard against his forehead. Then, as if a light switch had suddenly turned on inside his head, the child's face lit up cheerfully once more and he laughed. "Oh, I get it! _Kill_, huh?Well, I guess I'll remember that the next time we fight with the team, haha!"

Well, it was official. The Pyro snorted, before he sighed and shook his head. His new measure of the Boy was that the little thing was absolutely insane. "Mmmgh nnnph nhya."

"Huh?" The Boy stared up at him innocently. "What do you mean, it doesn't matter? Does any of this have to do with the reason why I'm still tied up, even though I'm not an enemy? Because honestly, the ropes are starting to chafe my delicate little skin, see?"

The Pyro said nothing. Instead, he stared at the Boy in silence for a long, _long_ time, until the child's brown eyes suddenly widened in shock.

"Oy! You mean you all aren't joshing me?" the Boy exclaimed, his head tilted to the side as he allowed his recently acquired information to sink into his brain. "You all really believe that—that little, puny me—that I'm an enemy? …gosh." The Boy blinked, before he scowled at the Pyro. "That isn't fair, Bob. Just what have I done to make you lot think that I'm an enemy? I helped in the battle yesterday, didn't I? Besides, I was sent by the superiors to be your Engineer! I told you this while you were all ganging up on me—"

_BAM!_

The Boy was cut off when the door suddenly slammed shut. The thumping sound of heavy boots echoed the room, and both the child and the Pyro turned around to see the RED soldier standing by the entry, his arms crossed over his chest as his lips curved downwards into an unfriendly scowl.

So it was time. The Pyro immediately tensed and picked up his flamethrower, stepping away from the Boy as the child stared at the older man with a wide-eyed, confused stare.

Too bad—he had just started to find the kid a shade less annoying.

----------------------------

**A/N: This entire story is a recycled idea of mine, heh. I'm hoping to use a new format centers on conversations between characters, with each chapter shifting the POV towards another character. Will this work? I have no idea.**


	2. RED Soldier

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Two: RED Soldier**

One of the most noticeable features about the Boy was the fact that he had long, dark hair.

The Boy himself didn't seem to have a problem with this. He had been raised in a place that was nowhere near the United States, and he had never been allowed to socialize with anyone other than his teachers and comrades before arriving at the Lumberyard. That being said, he had been completely unaware of the radical youth movement that had spread across the world, a youth movement that supported pacifism, preservation of the environment, creative drug usage…and men donning long hair.

Plainly put, the word _Hippie_ was not part of the Boy's vocabulary.

But for the Soldier, it was. A starch detractor of those he deemed "Tree-Huggers", the Soldier had developed a fierce disliking of boys with long hair over the years. He only had a few skirmishes with the so-called _Hippies..._but every single one of those encounters were unforgettable. They had left him the unshakable impression that all long-haired young men in general were lazy, spineless, drug-addicted bums with no real sense of honor whatsoever. Upon seeing the Boy, all of those feelings were brought straight to the surface, and the Soldier's immediate dislike of the child only increased tenfold when the Boy's obvious nervousness resulted in him trying his best to laugh off the situation.

"Ahaha…I guess you're the Soldier around here, right? Um, let me introduce myself. I'm the—"

"I know what you are, maggot!" the Soldier roared, causing the Boy to jump back a good ten feet in fright. Unfortunately, this also caused the child to lose whatever sense of balance he had, and he ended up stumbling over his own rope-bound legs, crashing onto the floor in an ungraceful heap.

"Ow…"

The Pyro snickered behind a gloved hand. The Boy pouted at the fire lover in annoyance before turning his gaze towards the Soldier, who in turn was staring at him in a manner that was nothing short of livid.

To anyone who knew the American man, the look on his face was a clear red flag. Most would have cleared the room immediately. But the Boy, naïve and somewhat on the idiotic side, was completely oblivious to the tension being emitted from the Soldier. Staring up innocently at the older man, he only grinned cheerfully as his tied hands grasped the Soldier's clenched one, pumping the limb up and down enthusiastically.

"It's great that you already know me, sir!" the Boy exclaimed. "I'm glad this whole little introductory ritual is finally over! So, can you please untie me know? I would like to get to meet the rest of the team, and—"

"BE QUIET!" the Soldier yelled, startling the Boy into silence as he yanked his hand back. Gritting his teeth, the Soldier grabbed the Boy by the shoulders, looking over his captive's clothing thoroughly as he checked the black shirt, the gray slacks, and white collar around the Boy's neck. All of the clothes were covered with dirt and blood and needed a good washing, but the Soldier was specifically looking for any sign of the color blue, and he scowled when he couldn't find even a trace of the despised color.

He thought long and hard. Perhaps it was a new, poorly designed Spy technique devised by the BLU team wimps? A civilian disguise, perhaps?

No. There were bruises all over the Boy from when the team had jumped him the day before. A normal Spy's disguise would have flickered and faded from the harsh contact. And although his team had poked and slapped and tied up the Boy for an entire night, he hadn't changed into an enemy Spy, nor had he acted as the enemy usually acted in the past. Either this was a psychological ploy by the BLUs, or…or…

Or the Boy really was telling the truth.

But surely _that _couldn't be it.

"Um, sir?" The Boy began to fidget slightly as he tugged at his leg bindings. "I know this isn't the most appropriate time, but I sort of have to go to the bathroom...but I can wait, if you want!"

The Soldier's eyes narrowed from underneath his helmet, his teeth gritting slightly as he tried to twist the situation to make it form _some _sort of sense. The Boy claimed to be a new recruit, but that was impossible. He had received no notice, no news at all about receiving a new member—no one in the team had. From his experience in the World War, he certainly couldn't doubt the possibility of a BLU member trying to infiltrate his way into the fortress in an attempt to destroy the team from within.

Despite himself, a small smirk pushed its way past the corners of his lips. Oh, those silly BLUs. Try to mess with him, eh? Well, he'd show them! He hadn't been awarded those twenty-seven self-made medals for nothing! No BLU would get the best of him! He was a man of might, an All-American man! They would not make a monkey out of him, because monkeys belonged in zoos, and he was not in a zoo!

Nor was he in a farm!

"Um…" The Boy blinked at the Soldier, who was smiling rather sadistically as he floated off into his own little world. Staring up at the Pyro, who had been watching the scene before him in silence, the Boy asked in an audible whisper, "Is he okay, Bob?"

There was a slight twitch from the masked man, before Pyro shook his head. "Mmmph…nypph mmygh npppmgh."

"Happy? What's he happy about all of a sudden? Two seconds ago I thought the bugger was going to chop off my head."

"What did you say, boy?" Jerking himself back into reality, the Soldier made his way towards the Boy in several angry strides, the smile wiping from his face as instantly and cleanly as someone flipping a light switch. His hands suddenly shot out and grabbed all of the hair on the Boy's head, his fingers taking a firm grip on the Boy's long tresses before lifting the helpless child clean off of the floor and holding him afloat in midair.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, OW!" The Boy shrieked as he twisted and squirmed and kicked the air, all the while screaming as if he were a struck piglet. "OW! Sir, let go! You're HURTING me!"

"That. Is. The. POINT!" the Soldier bellowed, spit flying out of his mouth and spraying all over the Boy's pained face. "Now, you will answer all of my questions right here and now, and I will NOT let you go until I am satisfied! Do I make myself clear, Hippie?"

The Boy whimpered. "The…_pain_…"

"DO NOT MAKE ME REPEAT MYSELF AGAIN!" The Soldier's grip tightened on the Boy's hair, making the child wince with agony. "Now I'm only going to say this once more. Do—I—make—myself—CLEAR?!"

"Yes, yes, yes, SIR!"

"Good! Now…" The Soldier grinned toothily in the Boy's face. "Tell us the damn truth! You're a BLU sent here to spy on us, aren't ya? AREN'T YA?!"

"WHAT?!" the Boy yelped, his entire body becoming rigid as his thrashing suddenly stopped from sheer shock and disbelief. "N-no! I assure you that I am NOT a Spy! I'm too clumsy to pass the requirements for being a Spy anyway, and I'm a terrible shot with guns and pistols!"

"Don't you lie to me!" the Soldier shouted. "Admit it! Hurry up or I'll start jerking you up and down! Then your hair really will come out and then we'll have enough of it to stuff an entire bed!"

"ACK! NOOOOO! Leave the hair alone, sir!!!"

"Mmmgh," the Pyro mumbled, stepping back slightly as he tried to avoid the Boy's limbs, which had resumed its previous flailing. "Myngh mmph mmmmn mph nhya."

The Soldier snorted. "All of his hair might as well come off if the Hippie doesn't stop wiggling!" Turning to the Boy, he yelled, "Stop wiggling, you squirming worm!"

"Sir, please let go!" the Boy cried, spinning and twisting like an off-balance top that was whirling in midair. "All I did was follow my orders! I was told to take the Engineer position of the group that was in control of the Lumberyard two weeks ago! OW!" The Boy yelped as the Soldier dropped him to the floor, landing hard on his bottom as he hit the floor and bounced once—twice. "Ah…"

"Sit up and stop whimpering," the Soldier barked. "You're not in the Girl Scouts."

The Boy forced himself into a sitting position, trying his best to massage his scalp with his bound hands. "Are you happy now, sir? Am I acquitted of whatever guilt you think I might have? I am not your enemy!"

"I didn't let you go because I think you're innocent, Hippie," the Soldier replied smugly. "I let you go because I have a bit of a problem with your cockamamie story."

"Wha...?"

"See, about two weeks ago, the BLUs had control of this here base, not us."

The Boy looked up in surprise. "The…BLU?"

"That's right." Here, the Soldier gave the Boy a rather wicked looking grin. "And for the record, our own Engineer's walking around, without a scratch on him!"

Silence. Then, a small, tentative voice spoke out. "…your engineer...is alive?"

"That's right. And there's more, especially regarding an incident that took place about two weeks ago." Here, the Soldier tapped a finger mockingly against his chin. "We launched a crucial assault that day, if I recall correctly. Why, I believe I blew up their pesky little Engie myself. It's a bit odd, don't you think? They sent you out immediately after I get rid of a BLU's Engie, right around the same time the enemy had control of this area." The Soldier bared his teeth menacingly at the child. "What do you have to say to that, you little maggot?"

"…it can't be…" The Boy's jaw dropped slightly. "If what you're saying is true, sir…then that means that I helped to attack the team I should really be on."

The Pyro scowled and tightened his grip on his flamethrower while the Soldier leaned back with a grim smile. It seemed that the Boy finally understood his situation. "So can I take that as a confession, Hippie?"

"Oh god," the Boy murmured, his eyes shut tight in deep thought. "That…that…" Staring at the Pyro and the Soldier, the Boy gave the two of them looks of utmost seriousness…before it melted away and was immediately replaced with a cheery smile. "Gosh, that would be some wild story to tell the young ones! I mean, if that were all true, I'm in one fine pickle now, aren't I? Not only would I have hurt my real team, but I'm now trapped in the hands of the enemy! Hahahaha!~"

The Boy erupted into a fit of giggles, earning him looks of complete disbelief from his two captors.

"Why—why the hell are you laughing?!" the Soldier yelled, gaping at the Boy in a dumbfounded manner while the Pyro stared flabbergasted from behind his mask. "Are you not aware that we can—and _will_—kill you?!"

"There's that _kill _word again! Oh, you all slay me!" The Boy began to laugh again, and the Soldier was on the verge of wringing the Boy's neck in frustration and anger when the child suddenly said in a quiet, ponderous tone, "But you know…I wish the Lady Announcer had told me about all of this. Fortress living is much more different that what she and my schoolmasters told me to expect…"

And with that, the Soldier's interrogation stopped dead in its tracks.


	3. RED Engineer

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Three: RED Engineer**

The rough ropes were digging painfully into his skin, but the Boy had no choice but to bear with it. Before departing with the Pyro to meet the Announcer, the Soldier had yanked on the bindings so tightly that the Boy was positive that his blood circulation had been completely cut off from his hands.

"_Too tight, too tight, too tight~"_ The Boy sang softly as he watched his fingers turn blue. "_Puffy puffy puffy skin, gonna lose my pink-ies~"_

He had briefly entertained the idea of shouting for the Pyro to come back (because Bob was a good man…at least, that was what the Boy imagined). However, he remained silent because he also didn't want to recall the attention of the Soldier. The Boy knew he wasn't exactly the sharpest crayon in the box, but he wasn't a fool…well, not _all _the time, at any rate. Another wrong move would no doubt invoke the army man's wrath to inconceivable levels, and the Boy honestly didn't think his scalp could take any more abuse.

Besides, the ropes weren't so tight that he couldn't stand them for a little while. He was positive that at any moment, the Pyro would return (because once again, Bob was a good man…at least, that was what the Boy imagined).

Yes, Bob would be coming for him any minute now.

Any minute now.

_Any minute now…_

Half an hour later, neither the Pyro nor the Soldier had returned for him, and the Boy had lost all feeling in his poor hands.

_Bob isn't as good a fellow as I thought_, the young engineer-to-be thought to himself, although he was somewhat glad that the Soldier didn't return. However, he didn't realize that yet another man had come into his cell, a man who was clad in a red shirt, black overalls, and what appeared to be a yellow hard hat on his head.

At any other time the Boy would have recognized the outfit to be that of an Engineer's. But his now dark purple hands had completely taken top priority at the moment, and it was all the Boy could do to simply lie on his side, no longer in the mood to sing nonsensical songs. Instead, he was breathing in a strange, quiet manner and was trying by sheer mental effort to force the blood past the constricting knots and into his hands, which were slowly becoming swollen and mottled.

"Oh shit." His eyes widening from behind his goggles, the Engineer quickly bent down and pulled out a pocket knife, making quick work of the tight knots as he cut them off. Throughout all of this, the Boy continued to lie quietly on his side, whimpering only when the older man began to pull the ropes away.

"C-careful sir…it's a bit stuck on my skin—OUCHIE!" The Boy yelped as the Engineer pulled the last of the bindings away. "OW! Go easy on me, sir! I bruise like a summer peach, I do!"

"And I can see that," the Engineer muttered. The corners of his lips twitched downwards into a frown as he threw the slightly bloody rope aside and helped the Boy sit up. He started to straighten out the curled fingers, but the Boy hurriedly yanked his hands back.

"D-don't do that, sir! That hurts!"

"They gotta be flexed," the Engineer replied gruffly. "I ain't no Medic, but any man with a head on his shoulders can see that the blood's pooling."

"Then I'll do it myself," the Boy promised, holding his limp (but finally freed) hand against his heart as a sort of oath. "Scout's honor, I solemnly swear."

"Heh! You're too much of a prissy boy to be a Scout." Despite himself, the Engineer found himself grinning. "You ain't got the body, kid. You have less muscle mass than the Scout already on our roster, and that's sayin' a lot."

"I should probably meet him then. I mean, we _are_ going to be teammates soon…if I AM supposed to be on this team, that is." The Boy laughed good naturedly, before wincing at the pain in his hands. "Ow…"

The Engineer watched stonily as the young man attempted and failed to flex his swollen and unresponsive fingers. "I'd tell ya to take it like a man, but from what I see, you don't seem to be much more than a little boy, shorty."

"Shorty? Hey, that's exactly what my superiors all called me before they sent me out here!" the Boy replied cheerfully. "Haha, is it some sort of universal joke, sir? Ow…" He winced as he set his useless hands onto his lap. "This little introductory ritual is going a bit too far, in my opinion…oh well." He sighed, before looking up at the older man with a smile. "Hopefully the swelling will go down before the next battle begins. Then the fun will really begin! Teehee!"

_A game.__ The boy's thinkin' that this is a game._

"…if you're thinkin' this is some sort of playground, boy," the Engineer stated flatly, "then I seriously recommend that you wake up from whatever fantasy land you're dwellin' in. I don't care if our Fearless Leader _does _confirm that you're one of ours—I don't think you're ready to go guns a-blazin' on the battlefield yet."

"Aw…" The Boy gave the older man a childish pout. "You gents still don't trust me? I mean, we apparently work for the same lady, so shouldn't that undoubtedly prove I'm on your side?"

"This ain't got nothin' to do with sides," the Engineer explained calmly. "I'm more concerned about your skills on the field. If what I saw in your display from the fight yesterday is accurate, you can't even run in a straight line without tripping over your own two feet."

"…"

"…"

"…eheheh…" The Boy blushed and gave the Engineer a sheepish look. "You, ah, you saw that, huh?"

"…yup."

With his hands finally a bit less swollen, the Boy slowly pulled himself to his feet and nervously ran a hand through his long hair. "Okay, I confess."

_Good. Now we're gettin' somewhere._

"It's embarassing, it is! I always suspected that I was one of the worst physical specimens back at the institution, and you've just comfirmed it, sir!"

_...scratch that. Now I don't know where the hell we are in this conversation._

The Boy sighed and hung his head in shame. "You must understand that I never was one for athletics, sir. The only thing I was really good at was dodging and building. But I was always terrible at running, which is why I was never trained as a Scout. I mean, dodging bullets is one matter, but running as fast as physically possible…in a _straight_ line? That's a whole other can of condensed milk, that is!"

The Engineer raised a curious brow. "A can of…condensed milk?"

"Yeah!" The Boy nodded his head enthusiastically. "I love condensed milk! But people often forget that you have to consider the thickness of the contents and the specified brand the milk came from. One type might be too thin, and another might be too sweet. Then again…" He crossed his arms and pouted. "I suppose it all depends on what type of tea you're going to be drinking with it. I prefer weak tea with sweet thickened milk, myself."

"Just how did we get to talkin' about milk metaphors?"

"…I dunno. Um, what exactly were we supposed to be talking about again?" The Boy blinked and looked up at the older man, his eyes wide with confusion—until realization finally struck him. Staring up and down at the Engineer, the Boy gasped and pointed a finger only centimeters away from the older man's nose. "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh _gosh_! You're wearing the overalls, the shirt, the goggles, and yellowy hard hat that looks sort of like the outfit that headquarters told _me _to wear when they assigned me here! …I wonder what that means?"

"…" The Engineer felt a muscle work in his jaw. If he remembered correctly, Engineers were supposed to be smart…weren't they? Engineers were supposed to represent the best that higher education had to offer, right?

So what the heck was this BOY supposed to represent?!

"I guess that means you're an Engineer, just like me!" the Boy went on, blissfully unaware of the mounting tension that was arising between him and his older counterpart. "I guess that means I really don't have to replace anyone after all! Jolly good! I prefer working under a real professional over working on my own. It's lonely working on my own."

"Hmm." The Engineer remained silent, trying to make some sense of the boy before him. (Needless to say, he wasn't having much luck.)

"Of course, I didn't actually LOOK at my outfit before I came here," the Boy continued innoncently, "and I can't now. Not since I lost most of my luggage during my trip here…but I'm almost positive that my clothes were similar to yours."

"Come again, pardner?" The older man gave the Boy a suspicious glare. "What do you mean by, 'almost positive', kid? I don't think I get it."

"Well, normally it takes a person only a few days to reach their assigned Fortress, right?"

"Yeah…"

"In my case, I, err…sort of got lost on the way here."

The older man blinked. "…what?"

"I lost my way." The Boy chewed his thumbnail in embarrassment. "That's why it took me two weeks to get here. It's quite funny in retrospect, sir. You see, I couldn't read the map, so kept getting the trains mixed up and I ended up going east instead of west. And then, I accidentally took a BOAT that was headed for Europe instead of a cab that would direct me to my appropriate destination! The ship started to depart when I realized my error, and I ended up jumping overboard into the ocean with my luggage." The Boy then laughed and scratched the back of his head. "I lost all of my clothes during that little stunt, including the outfit I was supposed to wear when I got here. I never actually got to look at it, because it was still wrapped in the white paper they gave me when I left my bunk. What an amazing little coinky-dink, eh?"

"…"

"…"

"Are ya sure you're an Engineer?" the older man said flatly, crossing his arms and scowling in disbelief as the Boy gave him an innocent look. "At this point, I gotta tell ya, kid…right now your specifications seem questionable at best. And like I'm sure Sarge mentioned, a new recruit doesn't normally pop into the area unannounced like you did."

"…Sarge?"

"The Soldier. He says he's ranked a Sergeant, so I call him Sarge." The Engineer then paused, remembering the Soldier's vocal expressions about his dislike of the Boy. "You should…you should probably just stick to 'sir' when you address him for now."

"Right-ee-oh."

Suddenly a scream echoed into the room, a scream that sounded as if it came from a dozen rooms away. Startled, both the Engineer and the Boy ran out into the hallway, exchanging flabbergasted looks until the Soldier's voice tore through the entire base, screeching, "YOU ACTUALLY EXPECT THAT HIPPIE-WIMPY-MAGGOT TO BE A PART OF OUR TROOP?! YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS, MA'AM! WE'LL ALL BE DRUG-CRAZED, TREE-HUGGING CORPSES BEFORE THE MONTH IS OUT!!!"

"…"

"…"

The Boy coughed uncomfortably. "Um, I guess Lady Announcer confirmed my stay?"

"I reckon so," the Engineer muttered, scratching his head from underneath his helmet. "For _everyone's _sake, we should just stay out of Sarge's way for now—HEY!" Before the older man could blink, the Boy had sped past him, running _towards _the Soldier's infuriated roars. "Where the hell do ya think yer goin' boy? GET BACK HERE!"

"But the Soldier is upset!" the Boy retorted. "And he's with the Lady Announcer! Who knows what might happen to her?" He stumbled awkwardly into a wall as his legs, weak and wobbly from being tied up for several hours, suddenly caved under his weight. However, he quickly shook it off and dodged the Engineer's frantic attempts to restrain him, resuming his mad, reckless dash towards the Announcer's office. "Ma'am! Ma'am, are you okay—ACK!"

The Boy cried out in pain as his body slammed directly into what felt like a steel wall. The force of the collision knocked him off his feet, and he ended up face-down on the cold floor as his head spun from the impact.

"Kid!" The Engineer rushed over to the Boy and turned him over, cringing when only dazed eyes and a bloody nose met his gaze. "Damn it! Are you okay?"

"_My booboos hurt, mummy…kiss and make them better,__ pweeeeeese?_"

From above, the Soldier looked down at the two Engineers in disgust. "What in sam hill is that Hippie doing here?" the Soldier snapped irritably. "I thought I told you to watch him, Engy!"

"That ain't important right now!" the Engineer argued back, slapping the Boy in a failing attempt to rouse him. "Sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln…how the hell did he knock himself out by simply runnin' into you?"

"Hmph!" the Soldier nudged the half-conscious Boy with the tip of his boot before shaking his head in frustration. "This is ridiculous. This maggot is doomed to failure, and I will not tolerate failure on my team!"

"Let's just get him to the Medic," the Engineer mumbled, noting that the Boy's hands were still somewhat swollen. "I doubt he'll be alive by the end of the day at this rate. Besides, from how you were shouting up a storm a second ago, I'm guessin' that the Announcer allowed the little boy to stay."

For a second, the Soldier looked affronted, insulted, and dismayed all at once. However, the second passed and he resumed his former, prideful demeanor. "Engy, just take the Hippie and get him out of my sight before I send him home to his mama in a matchbox! I have to go and brief the others about this…this…new arrival."

"Right, right."

The Soldier stomped away, leaving the Engineer alone as he attempted to get the Boy to his feet. As soon as the army man was out of sight, the Texan let out a string of quiet curses, only to fall silent when he heard the quiet _whoosh_ of a deactivating cloaking device from behind him. A whiff of strong tobacco suddenly reached his nose, and the Engineer immediately knew who it was.

_Goddang it._

"What d'ya want, Spah?"

"A pleasure to see you too," the RED Spy drawled lazily, taking a drag from his usual cigarette. His eyes drifted in boredom from the Engineer to the Boy, who was still in a dazed state. "I couldn't help but overhear what had happened—"

"_'_Course you couldn't."

"No need for sarcasm, Laborer. I just wanted to see what had our Soldier in such a heated state." The Spy grinned from behind his balaclava, and reached over to tap at the Boy's white collar. "I never would have thought that the child was capable of surviving the night. The little thing had our leader in one of her more…pensive states for quite some time."

The Engineer snorted, and lifted the Boy's arm over his shoulder, noting that his younger counterpart hardly weighed anything at all. "Whatever, Spah. You gonna help me take him to Doc, or are ya just gonna stand there and be useless?"

The European thought for a moment. Then he smiled, dropping his cigarette to the floor and extinguishing it by crushing it under the heel of his shoe. "I believe," he said in a calm tone, "that I will choose the _third_ option. Good day."

With that, he tapped his watch and disappeared, leaving behind a rather annoyed Engineer and a still disoriented Boy in his wake.

"_Ghostie, ghostie, ghostieeeee!_" the Boy crooned in a slightly slurred, sing song voice._ "I see the ghosties…"_

--

**A/N: Before you ask, yes, it took the Boy THAT long to figure out he was talking to the RED Engineer. Yes, the Boy is an idiot. And he's proud of it! :D**


	4. RED Medic, RED Heavy

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Four: RED Medic, RED Heavy**

The Heavy stared in amazement at the small boy sitting in the medical bay.

Despite having the unusual situation explained by the (fuming) Soldier only a couple of minutes ago, the large Russian was still trying to piece together the events to form some sort of sense in his mind. Having the team doctor treat the person who had _supposedly_ been their enemy was inconceivable, and this was why the Heavy refused to leave the Medic's side, all the while glaring suspiciously at the Boy as the child looked back at him with large, round eyes.

"Why is baby on our team?" the Heavy demanded, breaking eye contact with the Boy to gaze questioningly at the Medic. "Is he not member of itsy-bitsy teeny BLU team, like Scout says?"

This only earned him a disgruntled snort from the middle-aged German. "As much as I vould like zat to be true, zat Schweinhund is unfortunately mistaken. You heard ze Soldier—this child is vun of ours."

The Heavy thought hard. "So…baby is not enemy now, Doktor? He is komrade?"

"Ja. Anuhza Engineer in ze ranks." The Medic then sighed, a sad, wistful look flashing across his features as he forcibly flexed the Boy's mottled fingers in and out. ("_Ow_," the Boy whimpered.) "A shame, I admit. I vould have liked a…_volunteer _for my experiments…preferably vun zat kicks and screams and is full of ze youthful hijinks. Ze Scout vould have been a good match, but zat boy is on our side, so..."

"A volunteer for what, exactly?" the Boy asked innocently, his eyes going from the doctor, to the equally confused Heavy, before finally going back to the Medic once more. "I never quite excelled with chemicals the way Bob and Erik did back at the institution, but I can most certainly try, doctor! My buddy Erik always claimed that I was full of hijinks and that I always acted and looked younger than my age!"

"…"

"…"

"Although," the Boy went on, tapping his chin in consideration, "now that I think about it, Erik may have been insulting me under his breath. But that can't be. He's my friend, just like Old Bob and New Bob are!"

"…"

"…"

A small smile slowly spread through the Medic's face, one that would have sent the hairs of a normal man standing on end. The German stepped a little closer to the Engineer-to-be, and leaned forward until his face was only a few inches away from the young Boy's. "So, child…am I to understand zat you vill be a villing partizeepant in my research?"

"Hmm? Oh, of course, Doc!" the Boy replied excitedly, although his smile was wiped clean from his face when the Medic jabbed at him with a syringe, injecting a (supposed) painkilling solution into the Boy's arm despite the youth's protests. "Ack! Give me a warning before you do that, will you? I don't really like needles, good sir!"

"Oh, so _saw-_ry!" the Medic gasped in a mock innocent tone. "Did ze Fraulein have a mittelschmertz? Did zat sting? I vill have to steady my hands next time, ja?"

"Ja!" the Boy retorted sourly as he rubbed at his pricked skin with an annoyed pout. He had absolutely no idea what the Medic had just said, but he trusted (a bit too naively) that the German had apologized to him in some way or form. "I may just change my mind about being your volunteer if you're not more careful, my good doctor!" However, the Medic wasn't paying attention to him anymore. The doctor's teeth were slightly bared in his smile now, and he was practically giddy at the thoughts of what he could do with his new—and _willing_—human test subject.

On paper, the Boy was his _volunteer_. But in the end, the healing was never as joyous or as entertaining as the hurting—err, _researching_, right?

He was jerked from his "happy" state of mind when the Boy suddenly let out a loud yelp. The Heavy had been tugging on one of the Boy's ears, and the large Russian let out a loud guffaw when the Boy whined, pouted, and tried to bat the older man's hands away.

"Oy!" the child yelled, irritably slapping away the Heavy's club-sized hand as the large Russian tried to poke him in the forehead. "Stop that, you Goliath! I've got a bit of a headache, I have, and the poking doesn't do much to help!"

"But you are so small!" the Heavy commented, poking the Boy's forehead with so much enthusiasm that the child nearly toppled backwards off of the examining chair. "Is funny to me!"

"Oh?" The Boy's annoyance vanished, and was replaced with child-like curiosity. "Really now? Well, I can say the same for you, Mr. Heavy! I too, find your humongous size to be funny! Teehee!"

"…"

"…"

The Medic paused, before quietly stepping away from his meat shield, whose facial features had darkened considerably. "Zis vill not end vell," he muttered.

But then again, he could possibly have a new organ donor by the end of the hour…

The atmosphere in the medical room suddenly became tense, and the Boy looked around his surroundings nervously before staring back up at the Heavy. "Um, Mr. Heavy? What's wrong? You seem angry all of a sudden. Your eyes are turning red and bloodshot. And your hands are clenching into fists." The Boy cocked his head to the side innocently. "Did someone upset you?"

"You…" The Heavy looked very much like an enraged, hairless bear as he descended upon the Boy like a predator upon a young fawn. "You think…" His words came out slowly, dangerously, and the Medic was already happily preparing a body bag in the corner as the Boy sat quietly in his seat, oblivious to the large Russian's anger. "Little, little baby Engineer…thinks that my size…is _funny_?"

"…" The Boy blinked for a moment, before he smiled cheerfully. "Yup! I think your size is wonderfully hilarious, Mr. Heavy sir! A real force to be dealt with on the field, I bet!"

"…"

"…"

"Ha…ha…WAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" The Heavy suddenly _roared _with laughter, which caused the young Boy to break out into laughter as well. "Wahahahaha! I see now, tiny Engineer! That is compliment and joke, yes? It is funny!"

"Thanks, chap!" The Boy laughed as he clutched at his stomach, leaning on the Heavy for support…only to yelp _again _when the Heavy accidently slapped his back a bit too hard in his overexcitement, causing the Boy to crash face-first into the floor. "Ow…"

"Tiny Engineer okay?" the Heavy asked worriedly, bending over the Boy as he poked the child in the back of the head.

"…I think…I'm okay…Mr. Heavy."

Nearby, the Medic stared at the scene with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment.

No body bag needed, no organs to be harvested? _Vhat a vaste! _Besides his earlier promise of being his "volunteer" the Boy was soon becoming more and more of a useless dummkopf in the German's eyes, and the Medic aspired to get the Boy on his way as quickly as possible despite the possible injury that he might have received from Heavy's slap. "Go and find your elder," the Medic stated dismissively, shooing the Boy towards the door. "Ve vill talk about your…assistance vith me anuhza time."

"Ah, so little man will be helping you, doktor? Very good!" the Heavy exclaimed loudly, his face lit with a large, happy smile. He then grabbed the Boy by the scuff of his neck and—as gently as a man his size could—lifted the small child to his feet, holding him steady as the Boy wobbled slightly on his shaking legs.

"Woah there, Mr. Heavy. I don't think I can stand upright just yet. I think I have sea legs, for some odd reason…"

"Hahaha! Tiny Engineer is really little baby! Then, should I carry little baby to Big Engineer?"

"Huh?" The Boy looked up at the Heavy incredulously, before he pouted childishly. "Oy! I'm not little and I'm not a baby!"

"But you make face like one!" the Heavy replied, laughing heartily as the Boy's pout became even more childish.

"Bah!" The Boy pulled away from the Heavy and stomped towards the door, pausing only when he placed a hand on the knob to look back at the large Russian man. "Mr. Heavy, when I think of a fitting comeback to your statement, we _will _continue this conversation, do you hear me? I will plot a fitting rebuttal to this—"

"HEY!" There was a loud, boisterous voice on the other side of the door, and the Boy stared stupidly as the person on the other end tried to get in (and couldn't, due to the fact that the Boy was blocking the door from opening). "HEY! Who's the fuckwit who's blockin' the med bay? I gotta see the Doc for a second!"

"Fuckwit?!" An insulted look immediately crossed the Boy's face, and he threw the door open, charging straight towards the person who had lashed the insult at him. "Why you—you bloke! Who do you think you're calling a fuckwit?!"

"Wait, Tiny Engineer! That is only Scout!" As the Heavy ran out to calm the boys down, the Medic let out an exasperated sigh and buried his head in his hands.

"My skill is vasted on zis team…"

--

**A/N: My chapters are not meant to be long. Conversations can only last so long, after all. Think of them as drabbles in a sense, ja? And for Medic's accent…I like it to be heavy and foreign, because to me, that's Medic. Ah, Medic.**

**Apparently, "mittelschmertz" means menstrual cramp. Ew.**

**Thanks much to Enye, for giving me the opening line for the Heavy. And thanks much to Charlett for the help on Medic. :D**


	5. RED Engineer, RED Scout

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Five: RED Engineer, RED Scout**

The Engineer wasn't too happy about the Boy's new outfit, and for two very good reasons:

1) The black overalls and red shirt were merely some of the Engineer's old hand-me-downs. All of the articles of clothing were oil-slicked and covered with old, telltale stains that regular washing just _wouldn't _remove. Also…

2) They were several sizes too large for the child.

The Boy was, plainly put, a boy. If there had been some meat on his bones, then the Texan wouldn't have worried half as much…but the Boy was physically smaller and skinner than even the Scout. With the straps of the too-large black overalls slipping continuously over his shoulder and the too-big hard hat forever falling past the Boy's eyes, the Engineer's old outfit only served to make the poor thing looked even smaller than he already was, like a child who was trying on his father's suits for the very first time.

It didn't help that the pant legs of the overalls were far too long for the Boy's frame. Even though the Engineer had rolled them up, they unraveled quickly, resulting in the Boy tripping over his feet every time he tried to run. In fact, in the past five minutes, the Engineer counted the Boy falling over at least seven times.

But oddly enough, it didn't seem to bother the child.

"What do you think, sir?" the Boy asked as he tugged at the white collar around his neck. He smiled brightly as he showed himself off in front of the older man, apparently proud of his new clothing. "I'm fully dressed in the right colors now! Looks good, eh?"

And the child looked so happy that the Engineer could only smile, despite his misgivings. "Well, shorty, at least it's a guarantee that you're a member of the REDs now." He then paused, and pushed the Boy's hard hat back until it was sitting properly on top of the young child's head. "Um…can I ask you something?"

"Hmm?"

"You sure you don't wanna borrow some better fittin' clothes? Because I think Scout might have a shirt that'll fit you."

"HELL NO!" The Scout, who had been sitting moodily in the corner the entire time, glared at the two Engineers with a bitter scowl on his face. "After what that fuckwit did to me, I have to lend him some of my _clothes_? Are ya outta your mind, Hard-Hat?"

"Stop calling me derogatory names, you prick!" the Boy retorted heatedly, his face flushing in embarrassment as he adjusted the tightly wrapped tool belt around his waist. "Are you still mad about earlier? I apologized, didn't I? I didn't mean to break your nose…"

"HEY!" The Scout rubbed at his packed and bandaged nose before glaring angrily at the Boy. "That was no fucking accident, ya little faggot! You slammed that door in my face on _purpose_, when all I was tryin' ta do was get the Doc to treat my burns!"

"What?" His jaw dropping slightly, the Engineer turned to the Boy for an explanation, noting that the young child suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Shorty, is that true?"

"…"

"…"

The Boy coughed nervously before scratching the back of his neck. "Well, maybe I _did _do it on purpose," the Boy admitted, an ashamed expression overtaking his features when the Engineer gave him an angry look. "But I was provoked! He called me a fuckwit! I was angry...and in my defense, if he had just knocked on the door and asked to be let in like a _gentleman_, then I wouldn't have been so rash with my own actions!"

"Grr…!" The Scout growled and marched right up to the Boy, where he easily dwarfed the smaller male by a good three inches. "Stop talkin' like Spy, you creepy little shrimp!"

Not to be outdone and becoming more and more angry about the fact that this young man simply wouldn't leave him alone _despite _his apology, the Boy dragged a solitary chair over to Scout and immediately climbed onto the seat, trying to tower over the Boston boy in an attempt to intimidate him.

The Engineer had to turn his gaze to the side as he tried to hide his smile. While Scout had the look and the skills required to strike fear into the hearts of men who were more than twice his age and far more experienced than he was, the Boy looked about as terrifying and intimidating as a fluffy little bunny rabbit.

And it didn't quite help that the Boy also seemed as _weak_ as a fluffy little bunny rabbit. His encounter with Soldier pretty much told all that was needed to be said...

"There is nothing wrong with my vocabulary," the Boy stated irritably to the Scout. "And I haven't met your espionage agent yet, so your statement hardly makes any sense!"

"I don't even understand what'cha just said right now!" the Scout snapped back, forcing the Boy to step back slightly as he stood on the chair as well (despite the Boy's loud protests). "We don't need another Engy anyway—you're nuthin' but a waste of space!"

The Boy gasped, obviously hurt by the last statement. "That was UNCALLED FOR! You—you brute! I apologized, for crying out loud!"

"Now boys—" the Engineer began, only to get cut off by Scout.

"Why don't ya go back ta where ya came from, dumbass? You're English, right? Go and have those stupid tea drinks and crumpets and whatnot!"

"W-well, you're nothing but an egotistical, insensitive obtuse excuse for a homo sapien! I've heard that a good Scout is worth a great deal to his team, but you…! I don't know WHAT to classify you as!"

"Boys, settle down—"

"Nerdy little faggot!"

"Imprudent fool!"

"DAGNABIT, WOULD YOU TWO SHUT YOUR BLOWHOLES?!" Both young men let out a frightened start at the loud, furious bellow of the Engineer, and in their shock they both toppled off of the chair, landing on top of one another in an awkward position before shoving each other away in disgust (this was the Scout) and annoyance (this was the Boy).

Both boys then cringed as they peered up (rather timidly) into the older man's less-than-pleased expression. Although they couldn't see his eyes, the Scout could practically _feel_ the fire that was blazing from underneath the Engineer's goggles, and he heard the Boy gulp audibly next to him as well. Good ole' boy from the South or not, the Texan was downright terrifying during one of his rare displays of anger.

"I'm sorry sir," the Boy murmured in a small voice, sounding very much like a spanked child as he twiddled his thumbs together. "We'll quiet down…"

The Scout mumbled an agreement as well, but not before pointing an accusing finger at the Boy. "Just ta let you know, Hard-Hat…the shrimp started it."

"Why you…!"

"…" Sighing, the Engineer pulled his goggles down and rubbed his temples in frustration. The Soldier had asked him to help the Boy learn the basics of sentry-building and whatnot, but he had also asked the Scout to show the Boy around the base…and to keep the Boy as far away from the Soldier at all times. ("I will not tolerate that Hippie messing up the tightly woven formation of this team! DO—YOU—HEAR—ME—MAGGOT?!") "Goddangit all…"

Normally, it took a while for any new recruit to settle in with the team. However, with most of the members being middle-aged, _sensible_ men, it didn't take too long for a new arrival to blend in. Unfortunately, the Scout and the Boy were both youthful males who were around the same age. Their personalities were somewhat similar, but ironically they clashed so _horribly_ that the Engineer already felt the onset of a headache.

_And Sarge wants Scout to show the kid around? That fool must finally be out of his damn mind…_

Meanwhile, the Boy bit his lip nervously, worried that he might have upset his new teacher. Turning to Scout with a glare, he whispered harshly, "This is all your fault. You made him mad…"

"Funny," the Scout hissed back. "I was gonna say the same thing ta you."

The Engineer trudged towards the practice area, attempting and failing to see the bright side of things.

"Dim-witted meanie."

"Egg-headed pussy."

This was going to be a long day.

"Jerk."

"Asswipe."

A _very _long day.

--

**A/N: …well, can't win them all over, right? **


	6. RED Scout

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Six: RED Scout**

The Scout hated having to show the Boy around the fortress.

He would have so dearly loved to say, "You know what? FUCK YOU, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLE!" and just left the tiny shrimp to his own devices. He honestly could have cared less about showing the new arrival where their supply rooms were, where the control point was, and all of the unimportant whatnots. From the second the Boy slammed that door in his face, the Scout _knew _that they wouldn't get along, and all he wanted to do by the end of the hour was get away from the kid as fast as humanly possible. Besides, wasn't the Boy supposed to be the Engineer's responsibility? Wasn't there some sort of Engy code of unification between Hard-Hats?

_Let the twerp find his own way 'round the area! It ain't my responsibility to be his goddamn babysitter!_

It wasn't as if the other members of RED couldn't help the shrimp, right? Although…if they didn't want to deal with the kid either…then killing the Boy and giving him to Medic for dissection was quite the tempting thought. The Scout inwardly grinned—the Medic would never question what happened, so long as he got a new lab rat for his sick experiments. Hell, the Scout would have gladly bashed the Boy's skull in even without the Medic's strange corpse fetish, had he not been so sure that the Engineer would skin him alive for murdering the newest member of the team.

For reasons that the Scout just couldn't understand, the Engineer actually seemed to tolerate the kid.

--

"You young'uns better behave," the Engineer said sternly, glancing from the Scout to the Boy as the corners of his lips twitched downwards. "We're supposed to be a team, so no more of this petty squabblin', ya hear? If ya wanna fight, do it _after_ we firmly secure this territory for the Announcer."

"Oh-kee doh-kee, sir!" The Boy grinned as he gave the older man a two-fingered salute, while the Scout merely mumbled something that might have passed for an agreement.

"Yeah, yeah…" Grumble, grumble. "Whatever man…" Grumble, grumble.

The Engineer scowled, but nevertheless turned his attention to the Boy, who was giving him such an earnest smile that the Texan actually felt unnerved. Clearing his throat, he grabbed his large wrench and handed it to the Boy. "Here, shorty. I wanna see how good ya are at building a sentry. You _do _know how to build a sentry, right?"

"Yes sir!" The Boy eagerly grabbed the wrench and dashed off towards the large box of metal in the corner of the practice area…or at least, he tried to. The child's arms were much smaller and spindlier than the Engineer's thick, muscular ones, and as a result, one end of the wrench dropped straight to the floor, with the Boy (attempting) to drag the oversized tool towards the box of metal. "I—I can do this!" the child yelped, panting as he yanked hard at the wrench, pulling it inch by inch along the ground. "Just—just give me a few minutes!"

"…"

"…"

Here, the Scout let out a very audible snicker. "So, Hard-Hat…still think the twerp's gonna be a help on the field? He won't be able to swing that thing even once at a sentry. Imagine what he's gonna try ta do if a Spy's nearby? Jesus…"

The Texan's eye twitched, but he remained calm as he watched the Boy continue to drag the wrench along the dust and dirt. "It's nothin' Scout. We'll just get the kid a smaller wrench, that's all."

"Huh." The Bostonian watched as the Boy flopped on the ground halfway to the metal box, gasping for breath as he feebly searched for his inhaler. The Scout snorted at the pathetic sight before snidely remarking, "Well then, Engy…you'd better be able ta find a wrench that's a quarter the size of yer own. 'Cause honestly? I don't think the shrimp can survive with anything bigger."

"…"

"Then again, it might not matter. Heard we have another fight with them BLUs either tomorrow, or the day after. I mean, I know that the twerp's grenades _did_ hit that BLU Pyro and Heavy, but they didn't _die_. Hell, our own Heavy's been hit with worse, and he still fought the next day." The Scout scowled as the Boy slowly rose to his feet, grabbing at the large wrench as he tried to pick it up. "I give him ten minutes before he's stabbed by a Spy."

The Engineer rubbed his temples, sighing.

--

Okay, so he wasn't allowed to kill the kid. But it was so hard to _not_ kill him, and it wasn't just because the annoying little son-of-a-bitch was sticking his tongue at him whenever the Engineer wasn't looking. After spending several hours skulking after the small _thing _(he called the Boy a _thing_, because the _thing_ wasn't yet fit for human titles in Scout's mind), Scout had inadvertently learned one of the Boy's more peculiar mannerisms.

One of the Boy's constant habits was that he had to—_had to_—write down everything he deemed important.

The Scout quickly noticed that a small white notepad was always placed underneath the shirt worn by the Boy, a notepad that was accompanied by a tiny stub of a pencil that never seemed to run out of graphite no matter how many times it was used. The Boy patiently explained that during his days of training, whenever the instructors mentioned something that he assumed would help him later on, he would always pull out the notepad before writing, writing, writing everything he had heard.

Normally, his writing habits didn't take up too much time—or so the Boy claimed—and he always made sure to note only the bare necessities before slipping the pad underneath his shirt again. However, with the presence of a Master Engineer before him, it seemed that nearly everything that the older man said was important to the young child and as a result, the Boy ended up filling many, _many _pages of his little book.

In the Scout's most humble opinion, the Boy was nothing but an undersized, unneeded nerdling.

…

By god, even the older Engineer wasn't this boring.

--

"It doesn't hurt to be prepared," the Boy murmured, his pencil jotting down hastily scribbled notes as the Engineer showed him the latest upgrades to the sentry guns and the Dispense-O-Matic 9000. "If I forget something vital, I'll always have my memos, right?"

The Scout replied with a small snort. "Them notes ain't gonna do shit if ya get your ass blown up before you can even read them."

The scribbling suddenly stopped. The Boy looked up at him with curious eyes and tilted his head to the side. "Get my ass…blown up?"

"…yeah." The Scout frowned. "Ya know…yer gonna be pushin' up daisies. Swimmin' with the fishes. _Dead_."

"Dead…?" A startled look overcame the young child's features, before he tugged uncomfortably at the black goggles that rested around his neck. "Well, I supposed I would definitely lose points if I 'died' on the battlefield…but the instructors never told us to take it so serio—"

"Hey!" The Engineer stopped his lecture and stared hard at the two boys, slinging his heavy wrench over his shoulders as he gave the young men a look of disapproval. "You two bickerin' again? Do I have to beat ya young'uns like a rented mule to get my point across?" He suddenly swung the end of his wrench into his hand, resulting in a loud _SMACK _that echoed dismally across the room.

"Eep! NO SIR!" Paling, the Boy shook his head frantically. "T-that is definitely not necessary, sir!"

The Scout also shook his head, backing away slightly from the clearly displeased Engineer as he took his seat in the corner of the room. "Yo man, just chill…we'll can it, all right?"

"Hmph." The Texan scowled, before he turned his attention back to the Boy. "Where was I, anyway?"

Flipping through the pages in his notebook, the Boy stopped at a particularly messy page and gave his teacher a nervous smile. "We were up to the Sappers!"

"Ah, right! Now, listen up," the Engineer lectured. "When an Ultra-Sapper device is affixed to the top section of the sentry device, the first thing to do is NOT to panic." The Texan tapped a newly built sentry with his heavy wrench as the Boy looked on in admiration. The Scout, who couldn't care less about sentry building but was stuck there _anyway_ due to the Soldier's orders, moped around in the corner, undeniably bored. "All you gotta do is just stay calm and remove the red and green wire while tune dialin'."

"Tune Dialing? What does that mean?" the Boy asked innocently, the tip of his pencil paused over the paper.

"You hit the doggone thing with yer wrench til it falls off!" the Engineer replied, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. Grinning as he placed a hand on the Boy's shoulder, he jerked his head towards the shotgun that was placed against the nearby wall. "After you get that damn Sapper off, follow up with sporadic gunfire in the immediate vicinity of the sentry, and hope that the BLU Spah gets his brains blown out."

The Scout hung his head. _Ugh. This is so boring…_

"Blow…brains…out." The Boy nodded sagely as he wrote down the older man's words, before he paused. "Um, but won't blowing out his brains make the Spy angry, sir? I mean, when the next battle comes, he'll want to really hurt us."

The Scout lifted his head slightly. _Huh? What the hell did I just hear?_

"…" The Engineer blinked from behind his goggles, as if he was also uncertain of what he had just heard. "Um…Shorty? Spahs won't come after us if they're dead. That's War Casualty 101 right there, son."

"Dead?" A frown appeared on the young child's face, as well as discomfort. "But sir, I was told that death is—"

"Don't worry, kid! You'll be with me for the first couple of battles anyway. Can't have a new recruit die in the first battle, right?"

"But sir—"

"Now, onto the dispensers…"

"Right…"

The Boy started jotting down notes again, but the Scout noticed that his hand was somewhat slower, and that the young child seemed to be deep in thought. And here, the Scout briefly wondered if the Boy would even make it out alive the next day.

Not that he gave a crap.

--

**A/N: (Tries to look innocent) What? Last time it was mostly Engy's point of view, with a bit of Scout mixed in. Now, it's mostly Scout. That's fair!**

**But on a logical level…you'll have to admit, we're going to get a lot of chapters with the RED Engineer. Because there's an Engy connection, right? …and if you don't believe that, then I'm sorry. It's just the logic of my insane mind.**


	7. BLU Sniper

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Seven: BLU Sniper**

Unlike some of the other territories, the Lumberyard did not consist of a barren wasteland of sand, dust, or steel. On the contrary, it was a vast tract of unspoiled wilderness, hills, streams, and marsh. Other than the few wooden buildings that were used as shelter, the region was mostly unclaimed by both Reliable Excavation Demolition and Builders League United, and this unpleasant fact led to both companies fighting fiercely for the several hundred square miles of forest and greenery.

There wasn't a single recreational village or settlement in the immediate area—while the teams of RED and BLU had the luxury of airlifts and trains, the civilians who resided far away from the lumberyard could only access the forest by logging roads, game trails, and canoe, the last of which became useless when the largest river dried up during the previous summer. But while the civilians mourned the loss of a precious water supply, the members of BLU were forever relieved.

After all, the river had traveled straight past their base, carrying with it the possibility of being seen by naïve boaters.

_At least I don't have to shoot the poor blokes anymore._

The BLU Sniper stared up at the cloudless morning sky and tightened his grip on his gun. Truly, he thought, this was a spectacular piece of the world. From his perched position on the roof, he could see everything. Aside from the few logs that were occasionally torn down for their base, the entire territory was virtually untouched by human hands, and any outdoorsman would feel at home here, like Timberwolves in their elements. He briefly wondered what his family back home would think if he brought a place in a wilderness similar to this, but he quickly dismissed the idea. It occurred to him that, for people used to the endless horizons and big blue sky of the outback, a forest would feel claustrophobic and spooky, and was probably a hell in the winter.

"Hey, Sniper!" The BLU Scout half ran, half hopped his way onto the roof, slipping his knee-length socks over his bare feet as a partially eaten piece of buttered toast jutted out from his mouth. Crashing next to the Sniper with a small grunt (and thoroughly ignoring the Australian's grumbles for him to go away), the wheat-blonde boy quickly chewed and swallowed the rest of his breakfast before giving the older man a crooked grin. "Hey, you ready dude? Surprise attack begins in halfa hour."

"I heard." The Sniper pointed at his own, smaller earpiece and replied dryly, "You're not the only one with an oversized earmuff on your head."

The sock stopped halfway up Scout's left calf. "Hey! HEY! It's not an earmuff! It's bigger because it's more comfortable and works better than that old person, hearing aid shit in your ear, lame-o!"

"Right, right…don't get your undies in a twist."

"Lousy, no good, koala-lovin' wombat…"

Rolling his eyes, the Sniper nevertheless grinned as the Scout grumbled and pulled his cleats on. "You should really get your stuff together a lot sooner, mate. I'm surprised Major Major didn't yank ya out of bed at the crack of dawn to get ready fer the fight."

"Dude, that wack-ass Soldier is nuts," the Scout declared, tying the last of his shoelaces together before he rose to his feet and stretched his long, skinny legs. "And for your information," the wheat-blonde boy added irritably, "Major Major _did _pull me out of bed. In fact, he dragged me right into a tub of ice water, just because I didn't set my alarm properly and woke up forty minutes late! _And he did it all with a fuckin' smile!_ Can you believe that guy?"

"Actually, I can."

"You're not listenin'! My body's still a little chilled from this morning, damn it!"

"You poor thing," the Sniper commented sarcastically. "Life is such a beast to you."

"Shut up. But still…where the hell did he even get the ice, anyway? I don't remember you bringing back any ice the last time you went to town!"

The Australian snorted. "Don't backtalk the Major, kid. Best not to question his methods. But you know…the old bastard's actually pretty soft with you. A few years back, he used to drag the other Scouts out of bed by the scruff of the neck before makin' them do a hundred laps outside…near enemy territory."

"W-WHAT?!" The Scout visibly paled as he stared at the older man in sheer disbelief, not quiet believing what he was hearing. "You're—you're kiddin', right dude? Didn't they…you know…_die_?"

"Some of them, yeah," the Sniper replied unconcernedly as he stared carelessly through his scope. "Good ones know how to dodge, though, and believe me kid—" here, the corners of the Sniper's lips twitched upwards "—you've got nothin' ta be worried about. If you weren't one of the good ones, you'd have died the first match in."

"…really?" The Scout flushed in embarrassment, twiddling his thumbs together. "Well, if you say so, wombat…it's really nice of you to say somethin' like that—OW!" Scout gave the Sniper a wide-eyed stare, clutching the back of his head where the older man had smacked him. "Jesus-fuckin'-Christ! What the hell was that for?"

"It's nice to reminisce, but try ta stay focused on the mission, you bloody little bogan," the Sniper muttered, his eyes suddenly narrowing as hundreds of yards away, he spotted a flash of red near what was _supposed _to be the neutral building, the one structure that was situated between the Reliable Excavation and Builders League territories, the one control point that the REDs currently occupied and the BLUs desperately wanted to get back.

It was an unspoken rule between teams, one that was written in dust. The company that had control of the neutral building controlled the territory.

"What's wrong?" the Scout asked, noting that the older man's body suddenly tensed. "You okay? What'dya see?"

The Sniper didn't immediately respond—he stared through his scope a second longer, catching a glimpse of a yellow hardhat, followed by the smiling face of an unfamiliar young boy in red. But before the Sniper could actually take a shot, the boy moved out of his line of sight, once again hidden by the walls of the neutral building. Soon, a distant _clang!_ echoed into the air, followed by the ominous sounds of a sentry assembling into position.

He froze when another c_lang! _sounded throughout the area. Another sentry…?

"Damn it," he muttered, scowling as he lowered his scope. "What the hell is this?"

This wasn't good. The BLU Spy had specifically told them that the RED team didn't patrol the control point regularly and, if they did, then it was normally the RED Pyro who guarded the area, along with _one _sentry.

But now there were two. Maybe more.

"Shit, dude, what's goin' on?!" The Scout squinted hard at the neutral building, looking more than a little startled at the sounds of the sentries being built. "What the fuck are they doing there this early? We were supposed ta surprise them!"

"Apparently they caught on to our little plan," the Australian grumbled, wishing vainly that his gun could miraculously gain the ability to see and shoot through walls so that he could kill the two Engineers now and be done with them. "Don't know where they got him, but there's another Engineer over there too. A new one…"

"A new one? Hey, does that mean we killed the old one, or somethin'?" The Scout sounded hopeful, but his hopes were soon dashed to the floor when the Sniper solemnly shook his head.

"Sorry, but that's a no. He's alive and _well_. We didn't hurt him in the last battle, and I think I just saw him right now." The marksman frowned when he caught a split second glimpse of the older RED Engineer's head. The thought of shooting the man at that very moment ran through his mind, but he stopped and slowly pulled his finger away from the trigger.

It was logical that he wait. First off, he didn't have _that _much of a clear shot anyway, and second, if he missed (and he would have, as the older Engineer now disappeared behind the walls just as the younger one had) then he not only would have wasted a bullet, but the REDs would have been alerted to his team's presence.

_But then again, it's not really much of a surprise attack anymore is it, mate?_

"Damn it," the Sniper cursed quietly. "Was their fancy bloody wuss of a Spy creepin' around here yesterday, or what? How did they know we were comin' today?"

"Aw, man…" The Scout leaned over the railing of the roof, sticking his upper body over the thin strips of wood so dangerously that the Sniper had to grab the wheat-blonde boy by the back of the pants and yank him back onto the roof. "What now? We can't surprise them like this…not when they have sentries all over their control point. And their Heavy and Demoman are probably setting up their defenses…"

"Gaaahhh…"

"_**FALL IN, MAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGOOOOOOOOOOOTTSSSS!!!**_"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHH!!!"

The BLU Soldier's obnoxiously loud voice roared through the earpieces, and both the BLU Sniper and the BLU Scout went temporarily deaf as a result. The Australian marksman clutched at his ear in pain while the Scout shrieked and bawled blue murder on the floor, rolling around in agony as the BLU Soldier stormed his way onto the roof. The Soldier (or Major Major, as he forced his team to call him) stared at the scene with a displeased scowl, before walking over to the Sniper (and sadistically stepping on the Scout in the process, earning yet another shriek from the poor wheat-blond boy) and dragging the marksman by the arm until he was standing upright.

"We," Major Major said in a gruff, would-be calm voice, "have a problem, private."

"I know that, major," the Sniper replied dully, rubbing hard at his damaged ear as his hearing slowly but surely returned to him. "They knew we were comin'. I saw the RED Truckies puttin' up their damn toys around the point."

The Soldier opened his mouth to respond, but then stopped as the Sniper's words sunk into his brain. "_Truckies_? As in, there's more than one Engineer over there?"

"Yeah." The Sniper nodded. "I was surprised too. I saw a kid dressed up like the other guy. Caught me off guard for a minute there."

"MY EAR! IT'S BLEEDING!!!!" the Scout screamed, still clutching at his deaf ear with one hand while he curled into the fetal position and sucked the thumb of the other. "Someone, get the Doc, please…!"

"Anyhow," Major Major went on, thoroughly ignoring the Scout's pain and agony and suffering, "This is a serious problem. Our new Engineer arrived only a few days ago, and he's still unfamiliar with the team dynamics. But if you say that there's two RED Engies, then this isn't good. We can't continue with the surprise attack now, not at this time."

"I wholeheartedly agree," the Sniper replied, walking over to the whimpering Scout and helping him to his feet ("It _hurts_, dude!") before turning back to Major Major with a sigh. "Look, until our own Truckie's up to scratch and we know a bit more about this new RED member; I don't think we should attack. At least, not head on like we usually do."

"OF COURSE NOT! It would be tactless to charge those red team ladies with our numbers like this!" Although the Sniper couldn't see it, he knew that underneath his helmet, Major Major's eyes were most likely bloodshot and almost bulging with rage at this predicament, and his mood would only get worse if nothing was done about it.

"Maybe…" The Australian thought hard. "Maybe…an attack at _night _would be better."

"…oh?" Major Major's brow rose in interest. "Explain yourself, private."

"The visual will be bad, but I have my infrared scope. If we surprise them at the right time, they'll be less organized and they might scatter around like wild herds. And when they scatter, we can pick them off one by one. We'll definitely have the advantage, lower numbers or no."

"Hmm. I'll have to think about this." His lips set in a thin, hard line, the military man stomped back inside the base, no doubt to talk to the rest of the team, but before he disappeared into the cool interior he stopped and turned to the Sniper with a scowl. "You do realize that the Announcer is getting antsy, don't you?"

The Sniper shrugged nonchalantly."I wouldn't know. Why? Has she said somethin' ta you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. Last night, in fact. She wants this territory back in our hands soon, or else she'll terminate our contracts."

"…what?"

"She can't do that, man!" the Scout yelled suddenly. Having finally retained his hearing ("With no help from you losers…"), he had heard Major Major's last statement and was completely taken aback by the news. "What the hell! One little setback and she wants ta throw us all to the dogs? Is that bitch crazy or what?!"

"Hold your tongue, Private Twinkletoes!" Major Major snapped fiercely, sending the wheat-blonde boy scampering back at his tone. "That's our Fearless Leader you're talking about! You WILL show her respect, or else I'll backhand that respect right onto your face!"

"EEEEEK! S-sir, yes sir!" The Scout shrank behind a very tired-looking Sniper for protection as Major Major towered menacingly over the two of them. "I'll be quiet about the Announcer, I promise, sir!"

"…Thatta boy." Like quicksilver, the look on Major Major's face suddenly became congenial, and he smiled as he patted the (trembling) Scout on the head. "Keep up the good work, okay? And try to get up on time, private. I don't wanna have to give you another ice treatment, now…"

The BLU Scout looked faint as Major Major walked away, whistling a song he had proudly made up himself. When he finally left, the wheat-blonde boy all but sank to his knees as the Sniper once again took his perched position on the roof. "Dude, I think that guy's all fucked in the head, or somethin'. He's—he's schizoid!"

"Just how exactly did you learn that word?" the marksman asked flatly, looking through his scope for a glimpse at the neutral building. "Were you sneakin' through Medic's journals and cabinets without his permission again?"

"…" The Scout twiddled his thumbs again, trying to look as innocent as possible. "I was just lookin' for some of his uberoids…"

"Bah!"

"What? Don't look at me like that! We all know he puts that junk in the Heavy's food! How else is the big guy so—so insanely fat and powerful?" When the Sniper's only response was a shake of the head, the Scout huffed and crossed his arms indignantly, looking out at the neutral building with a sour look on his youthful face. "So…what's this new Engy look like, anyway?"

"He's a kid. Looks around your age." The Sniper paused. "Didn't know them Engineers come that young, though. Our new guy's about forty, and I know the older RED Truckie isn't exactly a spring chicken either."

"Really?" The Scout blinked, before he gave the Sniper an angry look. "Hey, that's not fair! Our new Engy came in a WEEK AND A HALF after we lost our other guy. And then the REDs get a new member, just like that? That ain't fair, dude!"

The Sniper sighed. "Tell me about it."

--

A/N: Thanks much to Charlett for the review!


	8. BLU Team

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Eight: BLU Team**

A bright, nearly full moon had risen, casting an eerie, haunting glow onto the dark forest.

While this was a strangely calming sight for most people, this had the exact opposite effect on the BLU Scout. In fact, with his tense nerves and his slightly over-caffeinated state, he was unable to sit still and could do little more than pace back and forth in a straight line while nervously chewing at his thumbnail. As a result of his frantic pacing, he wore a groove straight into the forest floor that only continued to get deeper and deeper by the minute, the groove depth reaching knee-level by the end of ten minutes.

Scout's anxiety didn't bother men like the BLU Sniper. He was more than used to the wheat-blonde's constant movement and as a result he simply ignored his younger teammate. But men like Major Major were far less willing to put up with the Scout's obvious nervousness, and the way the Scout continued to pace, pace, _pace_ without end had sent the army man into all sorts of twitches and disgust. But for every person like Major Major (who was _this _close to blowing the Scout sky high, friendly teammate or no) and for every person like the BLU Sniper (who was still ignoring the Scout as if he was nothing more than backyard scenery), there was always one who took the middle ground.

And for BLU, this man was their Medic.

"Vould you schtop running about and _sit_, Schweinhund?" the German snapped irritably as he grabbed the wheat-blonde boy by the arm and forced him to crouch down with the rest of the team. "Sit and be calm! Ze situation is complicated enough vithout you exposing our pozeetion to ze REDs!"

A low murmur of agreement echoed throughout the group. The BLU Scout quickly stilled his frantic movements, although a small flush could be seen on his cheeks. "Sorry dude," he mumbled, one hand tightening around the handle of his baseball bat in an attempt to steady his nerves.

Personally, the Scout found it difficult to sit and wait, but he knew that the later the hour, the more chance his team had of catching the REDs with their guards down. The attackers, he reminded himself, always had the advantage of surprise and mobility, not to mention being psyched up for a fight. On the other hand, the defenders had the advantage of having picked the place and prepared it to their liking and, not inconsequentially, the advantage of creature comforts.

But it was this last thing that sometimes lulled the defenders into a fatal sense of security. The men of Builders League United knew this better than anyone—after all, it was this false sense of security that had cost them control of the territory only a fortnight ago.

"_Nom nom nom…nom nom nom…_"

There was the sound of a cellophane bag being ripped open, followed by loud, boorish munching and the wafting smell of salted peanuts. The Scout blinked before turning towards the BLU Heavy, who was snacking on a miniscule bag of peanuts with much dissatisfaction.

"I do not enjoy these baby foods," the Russian said unhappily, finishing the entire bag in one bite before glancing at the Medic forlornly. "Doktor, can I not have another—"

"_Nein_. You haff already eaten several of ze sandviches I packed before ve even got out of ze base!" The German doctor gave the Heavy a look of deep disapproval before stiffly crossing his arms. "I vill not give you anuhza vun until ze battle begins. You vill _vait_!"

The Heavy looked crushed, but the Medic wouldn't relent. Sighing, the large man took another tiny bag of peanuts out from one of his many pockets and ripped it open. "I am _still _hungry," he remarked sadly, pouring the entire contents of the bag into his massive hand before tossing it all into his mouth. "Tiny nuts are not filling for big appetite."

"…tiny…nuts…?" With his nerves slightly shot and the night attack beginning in less than five minutes, it took a while for the Scout to process exactly what the Russian had said. When he finally did, it took another couple of seconds for dirty interpretations to conjure up in his less-than-innocent mind, and the results had the Scout smiling from ear to ear. "Heh…heh heh…"

"Oh no," the Medic moaned, recognizing the perverted expression on Scout's countenance as he covered his own face with a latexed hand. "Scout, please…"

Completely ignoring the German doctor, the youngest member of BLU nudged the Heavy in the ribs, all the while grinning like a Cheshire Cat. "So, Heavy…tiny nuts ain't your thing, huh? Well, what about Doccie, huh? You two hang around together so much that you guys are like husband and wife anyway—what, his nuts ain't good enough for ya?"

"…" The Medic's glasses suddenly glinted dangerously, his hand already on his Ubersaw. "Filthy little mongrel! Cease zis meaningless chatter immediately, or else I vill—"

"Doktor has nuts?" the Heavy interrupted, looking at the Medic with a hopeful expression. "Doktor, why do you not share? If I cannot have sandvich, can I not have your nuts, at least?"

And here, the Medic completely choked on his own tongue, too shocked to make a decent response without losing a large portion of his grip on sanity. At the same time, he was not strong enough to physically silence his ignorant meat shield through violent, scientific methods, and the German found himself at a largely unwanted _loss_.

"Doktor?" The Heavy blinked, patting the German lightly on the back in an attempt to get the Medic to stop swallowing his tongue. "Doktor, why is your face blue and your lips purple? Is because you do not wish to share nuts with me?"

Laughter soon tore through many members of the team, with some like the BLU Demoman (who was only _slightly_ drunk that night, much to everyone's relief) boisterously roaring aloud, consequences and mission completely forgotten.

"Hey Heavy, meh lad…ya like them nuts salted? HAHAHAHA!"

"I reckon I don't get what y'all are talkin' about…an' I don't think I wanna know."

"Mmmph mmmf mmph mnnnya!"

"WOULD YOU NUMBNUTS QUIET DOWN?!" Major Major screamed, unknowingly making twice as much noise as before as the rest of the tem immediately fell silent. Whipping out his shovel, he held the weapon dangerously over the head of the person whom he deemed was responsible for the racket—Scout. "WE HAVE ONE SHOT AT SWEEPING THOSE DAMN REDS OUT OF OUR RIGHTFUL TERRITORY, AND I WILL NOT ALLOW YOUR NOISEMAKING TO GIVE AWAY OUR POSITION! _DO NOT LOOK AT ME!_" Major Major practically foamed at the mouth as he pressed the sharp tip of his shovel hard against the Scout's forehead. "_DO—NOT—LOOK—AT—ME! __**I DID NOT ASK YOU A QUESTION!!!**_"

"But I didn't say nothin'!" Scout protested, only to yelp and cower as the Soldier lifted his arm, ready to strike. (Thankfully, the Heavy and the new BLU Engineer grabbed the army man and pulled him away.)

"Hey there, just calm down, ya hear?" the Engineer said calmly, tightly holding onto one of Major Major's arms while the Heavy restrained every other inch of the man. "No need ta get yer blood pressure boilin' before the fight."

The Heavy nodded in agreement (although he occasionally threw worried glances at the Medic, who seemed to have finally stopped choking). "New Engineer is right! We must conserve energy and bullets for coward Baby Team and their coward baby toys!"

"GET YOUR FLEA-COVERED PAWS OFF OF ME, MAGGOTS! IF I HAVE TO CRACK SOME SKULLS, I _WILL_!"

As Major Major ranted and raved in his attempts to get out of the Heavy's iron grasp, the Sniper groaned and shook his head. "Bloody pikers…this attack will turn to rubbish even before the fight begins."

"Don't be so hard on them. They do try their best, after all…_amigo_."

The Sniper suddenly tensed an invisible arm snaked around his shoulders in a lazy manner. His immediate impulse was to bolt, but when he heard a quiet _whoosh_ from behind him, followed by a strong whiff of tobacco, he growled and shoved the BLU Spy away. "Damn it! I told you NEVER to do that 'round me!"

The European laughed, giving the Australian marksman a mock bow at the waist. "Oh, come now. Surely you can drop the 'professional' facade for one measly little minute, can you not?"

"No." The Sniper rubbed his neck in irritation. Knowing that the intruder of his personal space had been the team's Spy didn't kill the urge for him to scratch his skin off—it just took ten percent off the top. "Go away and focus on gettin' the sentries out of the way, will ya?"

"How rude." The Spy sighed and lit a cigarette. "You're becoming quite boring, do you realize that? You're starting to remind me of my equally uninteresting counterpart, and you _know_ that I rather dislike _him_." He offered a slim brown cigarette to the Sniper, but the Australian declined the offer coldly. "At any rate, you've got a better head on your shoulders than a large majority of these foolishly foolish foolhardy fools. You really don't want a quick puff? I find that it helps to calm the nerves…"

"Get the hell away from me, ya backstabbin' panzer. We have a mission tonight."

"And I'm well aware of that," the Spy replied, exhaling a small cloud of smoke from his nostrils as he turned his bored gaze towards the neutral building stationed a hundred yards away. Through the Sniper's night-vision scope and a pair of binoculars that the Spy had "borrowed" from Major Major ("If you don't return that, it'll be your HEAD, private!") the two men peered at the sentries that were lined up around the control point, all of which had already been upgraded to the highest levels possible.

"Damn it all," the Sniper growled, lowering his scope as he desperately wished he could just shoot at the machines and be done with it. "Why do those blokes get an extra member anyway? It makes no sense…"

"It's blasphemous," the Spy agreed, zooming his binoculars as he tried to get a better look of the perimeter. "We could always do with another Engineer on our side. Men of Labor are always welcome—" He froze when he suddenly caught a glimpse of a hardhat being thrown outside, followed by a young RED Engineer, no older than a mere boy, suddenly running into his line of sight. The boy was pouting up a storm as he bent down to retrieve his hat, and seemed in no hurry to get back into the safety of the neutral building until the older RED Engineer reached out and tried to yank the boy back inside.

The BLU Spy blinked, not sure of what he had just seen.

_A child Laborer? What on earth…?_

He zoomed to the maximum amount that the binoculars allowed, frowning as he tried to make out all the details of the boy in RED. Hired Engineers weren't normally little boys, he knew that for sure. He knew of one possibility, one that he had dismissed when their new Engineer arrived a few days ago. Damn it, why wouldn't the blasted device zoom in just a little MORE? He had to see if—

"MERDE!" The Spy cursed out loud as Major Major slapped him upside the head, the army man grabbing the binoculars and yanking them away. "Major, you incompetent simpleton! I promise you will die for this!"

Major Major, now much calmer than he had been a few moments ago, merely snorted and poked a finger against the Spy's chest. "Listen here, soldier," he stated in a serious tone, "there is only one thing we all need to focus on, and that's getting control of this here territory away from those RED team scumbags! For the honor of our respective countries, we must—not—_fail_!"

"You have your own countrymen fighting on RED too, idiot," the Spy muttered, but not loud enough for Major Major to hear. Instead, the European turned to Scout, who once again looked nervous and twitchy and had resumed his groove-making into the forest floor. "Scout, a word."

"Wh-what is it?" the wheat-blonde boy replied, his fingers drumming rapidly along the length of his bat.

"I need you to work with me during the attack. Provide a distraction and lure the older Engineer away while I set to work on disabling the sentries." The Spy plucked the end of his now very short cigarette out of his mouth and stared at the dying embers with a lopsided grin.

"Huh?" The Scout gave the European a confused look. "What the hell? Can't ya just disguise yourself and stab the guy like ya usually try to do?"

"If I could stab the older one, I would have done so by now," the Spy replied flatly, although the corners of his lips strangely twitched upwards as he spoke. "The younger one might be another story. Nevertheless, I need you to distract the foolhardy fools _anyway_. I have a little plan that will ensure that the RED team _never _controls the neutral building…ever…again."

"You do?" the Scout exclaimed, his eyes widening in fascination as he stepped a little closer to the Spy. "Whazzit? Whazzit? Tell me what'cha gonna do!"

"In due time, child," the Spy replied briskly, patting the young boy on the head. "For the time being, it's best if you don't know too much. So, can I count on you?"

"Sure dude! Whatever you say!"

The Spy grinned and crushed the last of his cigarette in his gloved hand. "Merveilleux."

_Mission begins in thirty seconds_, a too-familiar female voice hissed through their earpieces. _Mission begins in thirty seconds…_

_--_

**A/N: Ach, this was supposed to be the perspective of ONE BLU team member, and I somehow drag most of the team in there. I suck. T-T**

**Thanks to Charlett and Enye for the reviews! :D**


	9. RED Engineer, RED Demoman

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Nine: RED Engineer, RED Demoman**

"Damn it shorty! GET DOWN!"

Grabbing the Boy by the arm, the RED Engineer quickly yanked his younger counterpart down to the ground and shielded the smaller body with his own just as a barrage of rockets and shrapnel tore into the sides of the neutral building. The thin wooden walls did little to protect them--the splash damage from the rockets shattered the glass windows, and the Engineer gritted his teeth as he felt several bullets painfully graze not only his exposed back, but the sides of his face as well.

_Get up_, his mind hissed, all too aware of the blood trailing down his chin. _Get up before yer spine is sliced in half by a goddang SPAH!_

"Sir! Your face…" The Boy, who was still trapped underneath the Engineer, gazed at the Texan with a horrified, startled expression. With his eyes completely fixated on the trail of blood, the Boy tentatively reached out and wiped the blood away before staring at his stained fingers in mortified curiosity. "You're…you're really bleeding," he murmured softly. "You're really hurt…aren't you?"

"Never mind that," the Texan replied gruffly, pushing himself off of the young child as he shook off the stinging sensations that the bullet grazes had left in his body. "Just watch your sentry, kid! We can't afford to lose 'em now!"

"Right…" The Boy bit his lip and looked extremely reluctant to leave, but he nevertheless headed towards the top of the building, where his own sentry had been built before the fight began. With one hand clutching at his wrench (which was much, much smaller than the Engineer's), the Boy looked down from the ladder and yelled, "Be careful, okay sir?! I—I don't want to see you or anyone else bleeding like this again!"

"STOP FLAPPIN' YER GUMS AND GET UP THERE, DAMMIT!"

"R-RIGHT! OUCHIE!"

The Engineer winced as the Boy almost slipped off the ladder in his haste, dangling dangerously from the rusted metal rods with one hand before scrambling up to the roof with monkey-like agility. At any other point in time the Boy's strange comments and actions would have set off every alarm and red flag in the Engineer's head. And indeed, the Texan would later look back at this moment and become filled with frustration and regret. However, at present he was more preoccupied with not getting blown apart by the trigger happy BLU Soldier and the constantly moving BLU Scout, and he quietly cursed his other teammates for even letting the enemy get this far.

"Damn them all…where the hell did half of our team go?!"

The Heavy, Medic, Scout, Soldier and Spy…they had all moved on ahead to distract the BLUs from getting too interested in the control point, and so far a majority of the BLU team had gone after them. But a few such as the BLU Scout and the BLU Soldier remained, along with their Sniper in the distance, and all three wielded deadly firearms. Luckily the sentries had kept them all at bay, but the RED Engineer didn't know how much longer he and the Boy could fend them off by themselves…

And it didn't really help that the RED Demoman was stuck on the roof, trying to get rid of a damn hangover.

The Engineer threw a quick, cursive glance at the sentries, which were currently in the midst of firing erratically at the BLU Scout and the BLU Soldier. But while the Soldier was retreating backwards and ducking for cover, the BLU Scout was surprisingly staying within the firing range the turrets, and actually seemed to be doing his best to draw the attention of the sentry guns towards himself. The RED Engineer found this more than a little strange; normally Scouts tried to avoid upgraded sentry guns at all costs, but this one was purposefully—and dangerously—weaving in and out of the targeting perimeter of the sentry, constantly ducking the missiles and taunting the Texan every chance he got.

"What'sa matter, tough guy?" the BLU Scout yelled, spreading his arms and making a rude downward motion with his bat in hand. "Too chicken ta come out from behind your shiny toys? Fight me like a man, ya blood belchin' vagina!" The wheat-blonde boy flipped off the older man before quickly ducking another round of bullets.

"…" The RED Engineer growled as he pulled out his trusty shotgun, cocking it once before aiming it at the BLU Scout. "Boy, yer gonna wish ya hadn't said that. I'm gonna tear you down—ack!" He suddenly paled and dove into a corner just as a rocket exploded into the ground, right where the Engineer had been standing only a second ago.

"SCREAMIN' EAAAAAAAAAAAAGLEEEEEEEEES!" The loud, crazed scream of the BLU Soldier pierced through the night, and the RED Engineer found himself tightening his grip on this shotgun as several rockets exploded inside the neutral building, damaging the sentry gun to the point where it had completely stopped shooting and looked as if it would fall apart any minute if immediate repairs weren't made.

"Goddang it!" The Engineer grabbed his wrench as he glimpsed the BLU Soldier suddenly diverting his attention upwards, no doubt trying to attack the Boy's sentry on the roof. He heard the sounds of a pistol being fired from above, supposedly in retaliation, but all the shots went wide and missed the BLU Soldier by several feet.

_Our Snipah's gonna have a heart attack if he sees what a terrible shot the Boy is_, the Engineer thought dismally, crouching low as he ran towards his damaged sentry and began to repair it as fast as his hands would allow._ Better take the kid to some target practicin' if we ever survive this…_

"You call that _shooting_ me, maggot?" the BLU Soldier sneered, standing absolutely still as the Boy desperately tried to shoot at him again, only to miss terribly every single time. "HA! Even a blind, crippled, mute and deaf MIDGET could fire a gun better that that! You are PATHETIC! You are walking VOMIT! You—are—_YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!_"

The Engineer looked up from his sentry—and was immediately blinded by the sudden, intense orange glow in front of him. It took him several seconds to realize what had happened, but he soon grinned and tipped his hat towards the RED Pyro, who was cackling madly from underneath his mask as he charged full speed at the inflamed BLU Soldier.

"Much obliged, pardner!"

"Mmph nyammmhuh!" The Pyro gave the Engineer a thumbs up before resuming his task of stalking and scorching the retreating BLU Soldier to death.

"The burning!" the army man screamed in pain as he blindly ran towards the mountain area. "THE BURNING!"

The RED Engineer snorted before fully returning his attention to his sentry, which was now so damaged that it was twitching and creaking as it tried and failed to turn to the side, desperately attempting to reach its target—

_CLANG!_

A metal baseball bat slammed _hard _into the sentry, smashing it into dozens of tiny pieces. The Engineer stared at the mess in sheer disbelief, before lifting his eyes until it landed on the BLU Scout's smug grin.

"Lotta' good that gun didya, huh?" The wheat-blonde boy stuck his tongue out mockingly. "I broke your stupid crap, moron! What're you and that pussywillow Engie on the roof gonna do about that?"

"I…" The Engineer's eye twitched dangerously from underneath his goggles, and his normally calm, rational mind vanished. With his eye still twitching, the Texan grabbed his shotgun and whispered in a murderous growl, "I'll beat you like a _rented mule_, boy…"

"Oh yeah? Ya gotta catch me first!" With that, the BLU Scout zipped off, laughing in a juvenile manner as the RED Engineer chased after him, shooting with reckless abandon as he strayed further and further away from the neutral building.

"Sir?" From behind him, the Texan heard the startled voice of the Boy, a voice that he ignored as he chased after the BLU Scout. "Sir, where are you going?! Come back!"

And the Engineer told himself that the Boy could defend by himself for a little while. It was only for a little while, only until he killed the bastard child that was BLU Scout.

Unbeknownst to all parties in the area, a cloaked figure slowly slipped inside the neutral building, kicking the remains of the destroyed sentry aside before approaching the control point. The figure then chuckled, before pulling out a small device and setting it onto the point, activating a timer of five minutes.

_Let's see you try to wrench __**this **__off, Laborer…_

Several red sticky bombs suddenly rained onto the ground from above.

--

_Oh, meh head…_

He. Was. HUNGOVER.

The RED Demoman knew he shouldn't have drunk an entire bottle of whiskey that night, but he couldn't help himself. With the supposed "surprise attack" never taking place that morning, his nerves had been shot from the withdrawal he experienced from not drinking all day. When night fell, his team finally let him have his bottle back, albeit reluctantly.

They hadn't worried at the time because really, they never fought at night. They fought during the day, they got plastered and stuffed during twilight. It was supposed to be one of the unwritten rules.

So what the hell was THIS?

"Mr. Demoman, are you feeling better?"

The black Scotsman looked up wearily, trying to see his speaker through blurry and bloodshot eye. He felt a cool hand press against his pounding forehead, a touch that made him frown—whoever this was, this wasn't one of the regular members of his team. _They_ would have most likely smacked him for being hungover at such a critical time, and Scout would have simply poked at him with a stick until he keeled over and drowned in his own bodily fluids.

_Wait...ah remember 'im now. It's tha' little lad from before...the one tha' Scout hates._

The Demoman groaned and pushed the small hand away. "Leave meh 'lone, laddie. Even if I wanted ta, I ken no' even get my ass halfway up right now."

"…" The Boy bit his lip, before he grabbed a nearby sticky bomb and held it close to the Scotsman's face. "But sir, can't you at least put some more stickies in the area? Our Master Engineer's gone chasing after a prick Scout, Bob's still going after that scary looking looney Soldier, and my sentry's the only thing left for our defense!"

"Ah put plenty o' stickies already."

"That crazy-ish BLU Soldier blew up more than half of the old ones! Placing little more won't hurt…OH!" The Boy yelped and ducked for cover when he spotted a blue laser dot dancing around his midsection. Luckily the Demoman was already slouched in a position so low that the BLU Sniper couldn't get to him, but still…

It wasn't as if he was being useful at the moment _anyway_.

The Boy gulped and peered up cautiously, hoping that the Engineer would return soon. He was getting antsy from being by himself (and the Demoman did NOT count as company, although the Boy thought he was quite an interesting character). In the meantime, all he could do was repair any damage that the BLU Sniper tried to inflict on his sentry gun, and try to get the Demoman in a sober state.

Well, as sober as he could _get_, anyway.

He peered into his tool belt. Aside from his small wrench, his pistol, and a few boxes of ammunition, all he had were four health drinks and a bottle of water. The young child had already poured one health drink and half of the water down the black Scotsman's throat, but it hadn't helped much, and now he was slightly worried.

_This isn't anything like the training I went through. Well, it IS like the training, but…there was never any blood before…and there were always plenty of Medics around_…

"Wha'sa matter, lad?"

The Boy let out a small start before turning his attention towards the Demoman, who was eyeing him with a dazed, confused look on his face. "Oh! Um…nothing, sir! I was just…I was just…" He paused, before realizing that he was still clutching the sticky to his chest. Grimacing, he tossed the bomb off of the building and over the ladder as he wiped his hands on the sides of his too-large overalls. "It's nothing. I was just thinking about nothing…"

"Can't think about nothin' boyo. Not when yer gonna blast 'em all into thin gruel! Ow…" The black Sctosman winced as the throbbing veins underneath his forehead swelled to their bursting point. "Too noisy 'round here…"

"Would you like another health drink, sir?" the Boy asked, reaching into his tool belt. "I still have a few left."

"Nah. Just…" The Demoman blinked, trying to adjust his blurry vision as he squinted at a figure behind the Boy. "Just tell meh if I'm dreamin', boyo. Is tha'…am I seein' one o' meh own stickies floatin' above yer head?"

"What?!" The Boy quickly whirled around, his eyes widening when he indeed saw a red sticky floating in midair as if by magic. The sticky casually floated towards the Boy's sentry and innocently hovered over it for a minute.

_Zzzzst._

A large crackle of electricty emerged from the gun.

Both the Demoman and the Boy nearly had a heart attack at the sound. _Oh god, no._

"Oh-oh-oh-oh! A Spy! A Spy!" The Boy pulled his wrench out, running at his sentry in a desperate attempt to get the Sapper off as he shouted out (in a fake southern drawl, no less), "Spah's sappin' my—MMMMPH!" A gloved hand suddenly clamped over the Boy's mouth, effectively silencing him as the sharp tip of a knife pressed against the soft hollow of his throat. The Boy gasped in shock, and the smell of cigarettes soon filled his lungs as a result.

_Cigarettes? ...Mr. Spy?_

The thought of the RED Spy entered his mind first, but the sleeves on the suit were blue. The Boy blinked before turning his eyes upwards. A pair of light blue eyes emerged from underneath a dark blue balaclava, and perfect white teeth glistened almost mischeivously against the darkness.

The only thing that ruined this otherwise threatening scenario was the red sticky that was comically stuck to the man's head.

_The BLU Spy...?_

"Evening, little boy." The tip of the knife grazed his skin mennacingly. "It's a _pleasure _to finally meet you…"

--

**A/N: Ack, I messed up the battle scenes, I know I did! I FAILED YOU ALL! (runs into corner, curls into fetal position and sucks thumb while rocking back and forth) Luckily, the battle carries over to the next chapter, and we can see what the others have done. Like the Medics. Heh.**

**Ahem. Thanks to Charlett for the review.**


	10. BLU Spy

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Ten: BLU Spy**

The first thing the BLU Spy noticed was how small the younger Engineer was, how fragile he seemed under his hold, and how nauseatingly innocent and naïve the child seemed to be.

The poor thing didn't even seem to fully understand what was happening. Due to the confusion caused by the Sapped sentry and the sudden appearance of an invisible enemy, in addition to the absence of the more experienced Engineer, the Boy had been caught completely off guard. This left the BLU Spy with more than enough time to disable the sentry, take the Boy hostage, and hold him at knifepoint while the RED Demoman flailed moronically in the background.

He grinned triumphantly as he flicked the butterfly knife downwards, exposing the white collar that the Boy wore around his neck. The whole operation had taken place in less than a minute, and the child hadn't attempted to resist even once.

All in all, the BLU Spy was rather enjoying himself. Even killing the RED Sniper (which he had gleefully done before approaching the Boy) hadn't been as much fun.

"G—get away from that lad, ye half-wit! Let 'im go, else I'll blow ya sky high!" Hangover and all, the RED Demoman fumbled with his grenade launcher before aiming it directly at the BLU Spy and, consequentially, the Boy. "I'm warnin' ya, Spy. Get away from tha' lad, else they're goin' to bury what's left of ye in a soup can!"

The European let out a quiet chuckle, not at all deterred by the Scotsman's (valid) threats. "A soup can, you say? That'll be quite the feat, good sir."

"Not with tha' sticky on yer head, boyo. Can't quite get it off, can ye?"

"Hmph." The BLU Spy carefully shook his head, causing the explosive appendage on his cranium to jiggle comically before he gave the Scotsman a condescending smirk. "This is but a minor inconvenience, I assure you. And at any rate, you won't kill me. Not like _this_."

"HA!" The Scotsman held a finger dangerously over the detonate button. "And why no', eh? Every member on meh team _dreams_ fer a chance to kill ya! NOW SAY YER PRAYERS!"

"Oh, I'm not much of a religious man," the BLU Spy replied cheekily, laughing as he lowered his head and gently pressed his cheek against the Boy's. "But what do you say, child? Do you have any deities to pray to before the inebriated Scotsman…err…buries us both in a soup can, as he so plainly put it?"

The Boy didn't answer—he was still in too much shock to even breathe properly. The Demoman, on the other hand, became absolutely livid.

"Why ye—YE BLOODY BASTARD! I told ya ta let 'im go!"

"You'd better say something quickly, little boy," the BLU Spy went on, his whispers ghosting dangerously across the Boy's pale cheeks as he ignored the fuming RED Demoman in the background. "I rather dislike the idea of going to the afterlife by myself. I'll want some company. Yours, in fact. So what should the foolish drunkard over there do, hmm?"

"WHO'RE YE CALLIN' A FOOLISH DRUNKARD?! I AIN'T DRUNK...MUCH!"

"I advise you to choose wisely and quickly, child. Because if _I_ die now—" here, the European grimaced menacingly "—then I guarantee that we'll _both_ go. Of course, in a few minutes, it may not matter what you choose…"

The tip of the European's knife nicked a small part of the Boy's neck, and the sudden jolt of pain immediately snapped the child out of his stunned daze. Finally gathering his wits together, the Boy cried out in alarm and pulled the Spy's hand off of his mouth.

"H-hey! HEY! L-let go of me, you prick! This is HIGHLY inappropriate!" He began to struggle wildly in the Spy's arms, much to the amusement of the older man. "M-Mr. Demoman! HELP ME! J-just blow him up!"

"B-blow 'im up?" The Demoman's eye widened in horror. "But wha' 'bout you, lad?"

"I'll be alright! The good doctor will take care of me afterwards!"

"…"

"…"

"…you can't be serious," the European stated finally, his words suddenly becoming forced and tense. Both he and the black Scotsman were staring at the Boy in complete disbelief, neither sure if anyone on earth could possibly be that naïve, that suicidal…or that _stupid_.

_This can't be right. _The BLU Spy glanced at the white collar again. _This must be some sort of mistake. Is this really what they're teaching them, or is the boy really this much of an idiot and they just haven't NOTICED?_

"What are you waiting for?!" the Boy shrieked, his struggles becoming so wild that the Spy unintentionally cut the Boy further with his knife. "Hurry up, Mr. Demoman! It's not like we're gonna die anyway, so just DO IT!"

…_it's the latter. I'm sure of it now._

Apparently the RED Demoman agreed, for he was now staring at the young child as if he had grown a second head. "Lad, have ye lost yer marbles?! I ken no' kill meh own teammate, drunk or no'!"

"What are you talking about?" the Boy asked, looking genuinely confused as he unconsciously relaxed in the Spy's hold. "I'm not going to die. I was told that we shouldn't fear death in the battlefield at all, that death was just a mental, intangible obstacle to overcome! My instructors stressed that over all else!"

"…" The Demoman slapped his palm to his forehead. "I dunno wha' ye learned or who ya learned tha' garbage from, but I promise ya tha' yer still gonna get killed if ya make a mistake, like right NOW!"

"But—"

_Splat!_

A shot suddenly rang out, and a charged bullet tore right through the red sticky on the BLU Spy's head and found its mark in the RED Demoman's upper-left chest. The black Scotsman screamed and fell to the ground, trying to stop his bleeding with his bare hands as the Boy stared at the wounded man in a mixture of shock, fright…and morbid fascination.

"W-why…?" The Boy's voice was small and weak, like a child lost in the woods during the dead of night. "Why do they keep _bleeding_…?" He stared on as the Demoman's screams died down to whimpers, the Scotsman finally passing out from a combination of both his wound and the hangover from earlier.

Meanwhile, the critical bullet had shredded the red sticky into useless pieces and had scattered the remains of the bomb all over the BLU Spy's head and suit, causing the European's left eye to twitch in discomfort. Still keeping one hand firmly on the Boy, the Spy pressed a hand against his earpiece and said in a calm but slightly strained voice, "Why don't you aim a little lower, filthy jar man? I can still feel my head attached to my neck."

A low chuckle sounded on the other end. "_Well, if ya'd stop blocking my shot of that drunken wanker in front of you, I wouldn't have had ta cut it so close, would I? You ruined a perfectly good headshot. Although…_" The BLU Sniper sounded thoughtful as a blue laser dot simultaneously appeared on the back of the BLU Spy's head. "_This __**is **__the clearest shot I've ever had on one of ya fancy bloody wusses…_"

"…I vow to murder you someday, amigo."

"_Likewise._"

"Um, Mr. Creepy-Scary BLU Spy?" The Boy peered up innocently at the European. "Who're you talking to?"

"Quiet, little boy. The grown-ups are talking…right, marksman?" The BLU Spy grinned when he heard the indignant sputters of the BLU Sniper through the earpiece.

"_What the…was that the kid Truckie I just heard? Why haven't ya killed him yet?!_"

"Patience! Let me enjoy myself while you go off and piss in those disgusting jars of yours—"

"Git away from the boy, ya yellow-bellied gutless COWARD!"

"Merde! Is there no end to these constant interruptions?!" The BLU Spy cursed loudly as he glimpsed the RED Pyro and the older RED Engineer making his way towards the neutral building. The Texan, though alive, didn't manage to get away from the BLU Scout unscathed—one bloody arm was dangling uselessly at his side as he and the Pyro quickly took cover in the trees to avoid the BLU Sniper. "Useless marksman, do your job! Eliminate that those nuisances!"

A loud snort came from the other end. "_Mate, if you can get me a gun that'll shoot through a tree that's three feet thick, I'll gladly do it. Otherwise, stab him yourself!_"

"Bah!"

"Sir! SIR!" The Boy was now wiggling like an eel in an attempt to escape. "Sir! Mr. Demoman's hurt! There's a Spy and he—ow!" The young child squeaked in pain as the Spy began to drag him over to the edge of the roof. "OW! Stop that, you meanie doodie head!"

"Shorty!" The older RED Engineer had made it, Sniper-free, to the neutral building and was already at the bottom of the ladder, staring through his goggles with utmost fury on his face. "Dang it, Spah! I'll skin you like a spring hare for this!"

The European raised a brow as he forced the Boy to stand at the very edge of the roof, the Boy tottering uncomfortably as he tried to find his balance and not fall over. "More threats? I must say, you and that half-dead drunkard are very poor conversationalists. What, no '_hello, Spah_' or '_please_'? I feel quite affronted."

"Affront this!" The RED Engineer, still holding his rifle with one hand, managed to get off a single shot off the hip just as the BLU Spy pulled out his revolver and fired simultaneously. The Engineer's shot went high and disappeared into the night sky, but the BLU Spy's bullet went right where it was aimed.

Into the RED Pyro's gas tank.

"MMMMMMPH!" The masked man screamed as the tank exploded, engulfing him in an enormous explosion of fire and flame. Although his suit was flame retardant, the heated gases had eaten right through the material on his back, and the horrified Engineer and Boy could only look on as the Pyro flailed on the ground, rolling around desperately to put the flames out. "MMMH, MMMH, MMMMMMMMRRRRRRRRRRRPH!!!"

"BOB!" The Boy immediately moved towards the Pyro while the Engineer turned his anger at the person responsible—the BLU Spy. But the European, seizing an opportunity to get away while letting the RED Pyro suffer a little more, suddenly shoved the Boy clear off the rooftop, sending the child screaming as he fell headfirst towards the ground…

…and right onto the RED Engineer.

"OW!" The Texan yelped as the Boy fell right on top of him, sending them both crashing to the ground and into a sprawled, awkward position. "Git—git off me, shorty! This ain't a very comfortable or socially acceptable position ta be in!"

"S-sorry sir! But—BOB! Bob, hang in there! We'll save you!"

As the Boy scrambled to his feet and ran towards the RED Pyro (whose carcass looked like the equivalent of roasted pork at this point), the BLU Spy quickly cloaked and disappeared into the night.

_How disappointing. I suppose my expectations for the child were too high. At least I'll give the Laborers something to think about while I'm gone… _

By the time the BLU Spy left the area, the RED Engineer finally found the strange device on the control point, along with the timer.

There were less than two minutes left, and their Demoman was still passed out.

--

**A/N: Okay, so I lied. The others come in the next chapter.**

**Thanks much to both Charlett and MasterMillerLITE for their corrections and reviews!**


	11. RED Engineer, RED Medic

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Eleven: RED Engineer, RED Medic**

The seconds of the timer slowly ticked by.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

_There ain't much time left._

That was what the RED Engineer constantly reminded himself as he desperately tried to figure out what the BLU Spy had planted on the control point. He had to figure out what that _thing_ was, and when he did, he had to try to destroy that _thing_ before it caused any damage to the systems of the neutral building.

Because he knew—he just knew—that whatever that _thing_ was, it wouldn't bode well for his team.

Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, given the fact that he had no exact idea of what he was working with, given the fact that his left arm still hurt like hell even after he had healed it with his dispenser. Because honestly, he had never seen a device quite like this one before.

Stretched securely across the control point was something that appeared to be a small, metal spider. Its numerous amounts of legs, which were all made of curly red and green wires, spread out in all directions, creeping into the mechanics and seeping deeply into the electronics that kept the systems functioning. But where the head of the spider might have been was a small timer, a timer that was ominously counting down each torturous second as it passed.

It oddly reminded the Engineer of a Sapper. A mutated, twisted, warped version of a Sapper.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"So," the RED Spy commented dryly as he leaned leisurely against the wall, "I see that our stalwart demolitions expert is hard at work, as usual." He nudged the unconscious Demoman with the tip of his shoe, scowling when the black Scotsman let out a small whimper and curled his body into the fetal position, mumbling for his mother all the while. "Pathetic wretch…"

There was a grunt, followed by the loud _clang!_ of a wrench being slammed into the control point. "Shut up, Spah."

"As you wish." The European smiled lightly at the Engineer, before he raised and lowered one shoulder in a shrug. "Of course, my opinion is obviously worthless to you. Never you mind that my dearest counterpart may have placed an explosive that we won't be able to get off without the drunkard's assistance."

The wrench slammed harder against the control point. "I thought I told ya to shut yer trap!"

"Never you mind," the Spy went on, purposefully ignoring the Engineer's increasing agitation, "that during our most desperate time of need, that drunken idiot is lying in a puddle of his own vomit and excrement, crying out for his deceased mother to come and coddle him. And because of that, we may all very well die in a matter of seconds. Yes, I say that the night has gone quite _flawlessly_, wouldn't you agree?"

"Dang it, I said SHUT UP!" the Texan yelled, glaring at the smirking European in fury as he brandished the tool at the Spy menacingly, his patience finally stretched to the limit. "Who the hell do you think you are, just standin' round here for? Why don't cha go off and get rid of that BLU Sniper? It's bad enough dealin' with this mess with that bastard hanging over our heads like a damn plague!"

"Hmm?" The RED Spy stared off at the far adjacent wall, where a faint BLU dot occasionally danced on the wall before suddenly disappearing. "Ah, the so-called 'professional'. Sorry to disappoint you, Laborer, but I can't go near him at the moment."

"AND WHY NOT?!"

"Well," the Spy replied with a careless wave of the hand, "not that you'd care, but that blasted enemy Pyrotechnician seems to be protecting the marksman almost obsessively tonight. This is quite the unusual move, seeing as this is supposedly a desperate push on their part…but then again, attacks during the night are also out of the norm, wouldn't you agree?"

A sigh escaped the Engineer's lips. "Fine. Forget the Sniper. But we got a goddamn Demoman who needs help gettin' back on his feet! Go and help him instead of letting Shorty do all the work!"

The Texan pointed his wrench towards the Boy, who was frantically hopping back and forth as he tried his best to do three things at once. His small wrench flew maniacally over the two new sentry guns that he and the Engineer had built shortly after the BLU Spy had left, trying desperately to upgrade the machines before the enemy could launch another assault.

At the same time, the Boy tried to keep the burned Pyro from succumbing to his injuries by keeping the man near the dispenser. Lowering his wrench whenever he dared, the Boy made sure to lift the Pyro's mask slightly over his nose before securing the oxygen mask over the fire lover's face. Sadly, this was easier said than done, as the Pyro kept slipping in and out of consciousness and would periodically fall over from his painful wounds, but it was all the Boy could do.

He still had to get the Demoman to his feet, after all.

The young child turned to the black Scotsman, who was now wailing aloud about the Loch Ness Monster and his parents. "Mr. Demoman!" The Boy bent down and grabbed the Demoman by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. "Mr. Demoman, wake up! This isn't really the time to have dreams about imaginary monsters and your mum and pop and whatnot!"

"…ye…ye bloody bastard_…_I outta gut ye fer wha' ya did ta meh folks…WAAAAAAH, AH MISS YE, MUM!"

"MR. DEMOMAN! Snap out of it!!!"

"…" The RED Spy stared dully at the scene, before he scoffed and pulled out his cigarette case. "The child seems to be doing a decent job on his own. Why bother him, hmm?"

A muscle went off in the Engineer's jaw. "Spah, we only have a minute and a half ta get this _thing _off the point, and I would 'preciate it very much if ya didn't stand around being a jackass."

"I only speak the truth," the Spy replied as-a-matter-of-factly, patting his pockets in search for his lighter. "But believe me, Laborer; the boy is wasting his time, trying to get that drunkard to rouse himself. That idiot is past saving, as is our Pyrotechnician." There was a pause as the Spy lit his cigarette. "In my opinion, _mon ami_ …we really should just let those two die…and maybe the child as well, while we're at it. God knows that he's hindered us quite a bit in this fight."

…

That did it.

The Engineer dropped his wrench. Slowly rising to his feet, he stalked towards the European from behind, fully intent on wringing the man's neck so he could be rid of the bastard once and for all—

"AAAAGGGGHH!" The Texan gagged and coughed when a plume of bitter, noxious smoke was blown right onto his face, and he found himself stumbling backwards as the Spy slowly turned towards him, smirking and taking another drag from his cigarette. "You—you son-of-an-onion-ring! That was uncalled for!"

"Really, _pardner_," the European drawled in a fake, mocking Southern accent, "it ain't really my fault. Y'all shouldn't have snuck up on me there. Gave me them _spooks_, it did…"

"Just _leave_!" the Engineer yelled, spitting out the lingering taste of smoke and nicotine that had somehow made its way into his mouth. "Can't trust ya for even a minute! Always blowing smoke in my face and trying to backstab me and the Boy—"

"So says the one who just attempted to murder _me_ from behind." The Spy chuckled heartily before flicking the last of his cigarette towards the Boy, grinning widely when he managed to hit the young child square in the back of the neck.

"OW! Which one of you ungentlemanly gents just threw that at me?!" the Boy shrieked, rubbing his back as he picked up the charred butt from the ground. "That wasn't very nice, I'll have you know!"

"I'm inclined to agree," the Engineer muttered, glowering darkly at the European from behind his goggles. "Spah, go away and backstab one of them enemies like yer supposed ta do. Go before I plant my boot so deep in yer behind that the Doc'll have ta operate ta get it out!"

There was a light scoff from the European, followed by a roll of the eyes. "No need for insults or juvenile threats, Engineer. I'll hang around our Scout if I want my fill of _that_. But…" The Spy threw a quick glance at the Boy, who was still holding the cigarette butt and was pouting at him with a childishly. "If for some reason you can't get that infernal contraption off the point, try to leave the Boy here, would you? If my hunch is right and it _is _a bomb, he'll get caught in the explosion and then we'll have dropped any unnecessary baggage…"

"Just what are you implying by 'baggage'?!" the Boy asked in disbelief, just as the Engineer let out a loud yell of frustration and threw his wrench at the Spy's head.

It was a wasted effort—the European simply smirked as he tapped his watched and vanished, the wrench sailing through midair as it landed with a _thump _at the Boy's feet.

_Damn those Spahs, damn those Spahs, damn those useless annoyin' incompetent SPAHS!_

"KA-BOOOM! Hahahaha!"

In the distance, the Engineer could hear the loud, boorish laughter of the BLU Demoman, accompanied by the loud explosions of grenades and sticky bombs that were thrown all over the once tranquil Lumberyard. For a moment, the Texan readied his shotgun, telling the Boy to stay behind the sentries…only to feel his blood curdle in his veins when he heard the BLU member scream in horror moments later, as the unmistakable sound of a knife slashing through flesh tore through the night.

The seconds of the timer slowly ticked by.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

--

The RED Medic took a deep breath, putting himself in the right mindset for what was to come.

Normally a dispenser was provided by the Engineer whenever they were forced to take the fight away from their base. Normally, they never ran out of ammo unless the situation was really dire, because their Engineer was a tactical man who knew where and when to make himself useful when the team needed him most.

But on this night, _this _night of all nights…the hard-hatted American was surprisingly absent. And now his Heavy was out of ammunition.

"Why is Big Engineer not coming?" the RED Heavy asked worriedly as he hunkered in the rocky crevice next to the Medic. "Did he not say he would come with dispenser when he is done chasing baby-team Scout?"

The German didn't answer—because of the small amount of space that the crevice provided, he was squashed rather uncomfortably due to the large bulk of his Russian teammate, and the fact that the _Scout _was also there with them (and also without ammo, much to Medic's disgust) made things _that _much worse. The Medic could barely move his head enough to peek outside, but he couldn't do that even if he wanted to.

Not if he wanted his face to be devoid of bullets and shrapnel, that is.

"HAHAHAHA! CRY SOME MOOOOORE!"

The RED Medic winced as he heard the BLU Heavy shoot erratically from his minigun. The large man was currently trying his best to figure out where the remaining RED members were hiding as he sent stone chunks and splintered wood flying everywhere from the force of his bullets. Behind him was the BLU Medic, who looked rather exasperated as he tried to keep up with his hulking defender's inconsistent movements.

"Heavy, do not vaste your bullets!" the BLU Medic yelled, ducking as bits of rock and stone chunks sailed over the top of his head. "Save zem for vhen zey are needed!"

"Nonsense, Doktor! Cowards are hiding, and we must find them and kill them!" Feeling elated, the BLU Heavy threw back his head and began to sing a loud, deep, and _very _off-key version of Mily Balakirev's _Song of the Volga Boatmen_, all the while shooting in time to the music. "Da-da-da-da…da-da-da-da-da…da-da-da—come, sing with me!" The Russian stopped shooting and playfully prodded the BLU Medic with a sausage-like finger, invoking a sigh from the smaller man.

"Nein, Heavy…nein."

A pout. "But Doktor…!"

"NEIN! NEIN, I SAY!"

_Ah, zis is good._ A wicked grin slowly spread across the RED Medic's face as he gripped his medigun. _If zey keep on arguing, I can maybe finish charging and get an uber for Heavy. Zen ve can run back to the base_…_vhile Scout simply runs for his life. His legs are fast enough; he does not need an uber—_

Suddenly, the Scout spoke, breaking through the German doctor's thoughts. "Say, Doc?"

A growl. "_Vhat_, Schweinhund?"

"That fat bastard and his fag Medic know we're here, don't they?"

"…" The German's eye twitched, and it took all of his effort not to sound biting and sarcastic to the younger man…and even then, the frustration in his voice was clearly audible. "Vell, zink about it zis vay. If ze Dummkopf knew vhere ve vere, ve vould already be dead, vouldn't ve?"

"…yes?" the Heavy answered tentatively, as if he was a young child in a schoolroom. "Is the answer to question 'yes' Doktor?"

"…"

"…Doktor?"

"…it does not matter," the Medic said finally, forcing himself to act rationally, coolly, and with the same cunning that had earned him years of survival in the fortress. "It does not change anyzing, not for ze BLUs, and not for us. It is do or die, ja?"

The RED Scout nodded shakily. "Right. We might be in a freakin' corner, that much is true…" The young Bostonian thought for a moment, before a grim smile settled on his face. "But that also means that them pansies are stuck here too, right? We can't leave, but they can't leave either, not without killin' us. This night mission was some sorta all-er-nuttin' push on their part, ain't it?"

"Scout is right!" the RED Heavy exclaimed loudly, only to have the Medic shush him as the enemies outside the crevice suddenly stopped and listened for any strange noises. After a long stretch of silence, the BLU Heavy and the BLU Medic began their rapid fire search for them again, and the RED Heavy resumed his speech in a lowered tone. "Scout is right. Entire BLU team is _baby_! Once we get ammo from Big Engineer, we will show weakling team who they are really dealing with!"

"Zat is, if our hard-hatted friend ever decides to come and help us," the Medic grumbled, starting at his Medigun with a sour look on his face. "Ve have two Engineers now…vhat is taking zem so long?!"

"Want me to call the cool one?" Scout asked, a cocky grin pushing past his lips. "He knows my _It's-Really Urgent-So-Get-Yer-Ass-Over-Here-Asshole_ call."

"No! Call Tiny Engineer!" the RED Heavy protested. "Tiny Engineer makes Dispenser that makes sandviches!"

The Bostonian scowled and threw an intense glare in the Heavy's direction. "Are you insane? We can't trust no prissy pansy Engie to help us _now_! We need Hardhat! Someone _reliable_!"

"Tiny Engineer is not reliable? Lies! He make wonderful sandvich maker for me and Doktor to put in our rooms!"

"How about I take those sandwiches a' yers and shove them right up yer—"

Suddenly, there was a loud scream from the BLU Medic, followed by a loud, roaring laughter and a catastrophic barrage of what could only be rocket explosions. The RED Medic, Scout, and Heavy all blinked in confusion, before finally gathering the nerve to stick their heads over the top of the crevice.

In an instant, the RED Medic's jaw hit the floor, while Scout looked on with a wide, shit-eating grin. "Sarge!"

"THE WORM HAS TURNED, GENTLEMEN!" the RED Soldier screamed, shooting sporadically at the BLU Heavy, who quickly shot back with his minigun. The BLU Medic quickly hid behind his large human shield, simultaneously firing his medigun at the Russian for all he was worth as he tried his best to keep his teammate (and by proxy, _himself_) alive. But when the BLU Heavy's minigun suddenly stopped shooting ("No ammo, Doktor!") the RED Medic felt the first bit of relief he had in hours.

"Vonderful!" the German cried out, attempting to squeeze past the RED Scout as he tried to climb his way out of the crevice. "Now I can uber ze suicidal Soldier, and ve can finally—"

_Crack!_

The RED Medic stopped dead.

Sarge had stopped his assault momentarily to reload his rocket launcher, but the minute the bombard had ceased, the BLU Heavy had charged directly at the military man with the butt of his now useless minigun, clubbing Sarge _hard _over the head. The RED Soldier stumbled, dazed and disoriented as he dropped his weapon, which gave the BLU Heavy just enough time to grab him in a lethal bear hug.

"Ahahahaha!" The BLU Heavy laughed sardonically as Sarge tried desperately to pull himself free. "Tiny man cannot pull himself free, da?"

"Ow ow ow ow ow! Ouch, ouch! Ahhh…!"

There was a loud, sickening crack, and the RED Soldier's body bent backwards in an awkward, disfiguring manner. Sarge screamed in pain, before he took several deep, gasping breaths and stared up at the BLU Heavy defiantly.

"Heh! You cannot hurt me. I do not have time to bleed!"

There was a low laughter. Then…_CRUNCH_!

"ACK! MY SCHEDULE HAS JUST OPENED UP! AAAOHHWW, MY GOD!"

As he stood quietly next to the BLU Heavy, the BLU Medic picked up a small cartriage of fallen minigun ammunition. "Heavy, you dropped zis."

"Ah! Thank you, Doktor!"

Silence. The RED Medic, Scout, and Heavy all exchanged tense, horrified, and unsure glances. Then, the Scout tapped his headset, lowered the microphone to his lips, and cleared his throat. "Ahem. Hey, Hardhat!"

Static. Then, an annoyed grunt from the other end. "_Dagnabit! What is it?! Me and the Boy are busy tryin' ta—_"

"Needahdispenserhere, needahdispenserhere, needahdispenserhere, needahdispenserhere…"

"And sandvich too, Engineers!"

"Mein Gott..."

"You do not frighten me! Pain does not HURT!" _Crack! _"I STAND CORRECTED! ARRRRGGGHHGH!"

--

**A/N: Okay, so work and university is KILLING me. That means less frequent updates, as you've witnessed here…but I will try to update when I can, as these chapters aren't long anyway. **

**Thanks to Charlett (*hugs*) and She Who Dances Under the Moon for the reviews! :D **


	12. BLU Engineer, RED Team, BLU Medic

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Twelve: BLU Engineer, RED Team, BLU Medic**

It was in the BLU Engineer's professional opinion that every single person on the battlefield was a lunatic.

Not that he minded, of course. His teammates were not the "mad as a hatter" or "axe murdering" types of psychopaths that he saw in the late night, drive-in movie theaters back at home in good ole' Mississippi. While he couldn't say for sure that all of the members of Builders League United were one-hundred-percent _sane_, it was at least safe to say that they were all reliable and dependable men, men that he could trust to watch his back.

That was a good thing too, seeing as he was always in constant danger of getting killed while trying to build his machines. And he couldn't—_couldn't—_allow himself to get killed. Not when he had just left his newlywed wife back at home. He had left her only the empty promises that he would come back once his job was over, once he had been paid enough money to set the two of them for life. Also, he had sworn to her that they would start a family together. At the age of thirty-eight, he wasn't exactly a spring chicken anymore, but he wanted a son to tool around with in the garage. Once this confounded war was over and done with, once he no longer had to worry about staying alive, he would go home, make love to his wife like there was no tomorrow, and live happily ever after.

Besides, it would look terrible on his record if he got killed during his first battle. He had to stay alive. He _had_ to.

However, staying alive was quite the difficult task. Throughout the entire night, his work had been continuously hindered by the RED Spy and his damn Sapper every five minutes, leading the Mississippi native to scream the foulest curses known to mankind as he attempted to shoot the disappearing European dead with his shotgun.

"Daggit, naggit, nabbit, frabbit, DAMN IT! _HOLD STILL!!!_"

But the bastard _never _stood still, and he _always _managed to get away, always with a cocky smile on his face.

_Effin' Spah…I hope he gits devoured by wolves in the forest…_

The BLU Demoman and BLU Pyro had aided him earlier in the battle, chasing the masked scoundrel off whenever he dared to show his face. The Engineer had been especially grateful for the Pyro's help as he (or was it she?) seemed to have a particular knack for exposing the RED Spy whenever the bastard came within range. But then the Pyro ran off, heading towards the BLU Sniper to assist him (because the Australian was, supposedly, a favorite target of enemy Spies). Soon after, the Demoman was called to the front to help the Scout and Major Major capture the control point.

But while the Engineer occasionally heard the muffled grunts of the Pyro through his earpiece, he had yet to hear anything from the Demoman.

"What the hell's goin' on?" the Mississippi native wondered aloud, kicking a rock aimlessly as he leaned against his beeping sentry. Although he was an experienced Engineer, this was his first ever battle in a fortress, and he was starting to get anxious by how _quiet _everything was. He almost preferred having to chase off the RED Spy. "Where the hell did everyone go?"

Maybe he was too far away. He heard the sound of the BLU Heavy's laughter and minigun fire in the distance, and he briefly wondered if he should reposition himself. He was currently near the edge of the mountain area, but there were no enemies here and the RED Spy seemed to have disappeared completely…

"_ENGY YOU SPINELESS MAGGOT! MOVE FORWARD! WE NEED YOU AT THE FRONT—AND—CENTER!"_

"GAH!" The BLU Engineer wobbled back and forth from the force of Major Major's earthmoving bellows, and rubbed at his half-deaf ear in an attempt to regain his hearing. "Damn it, Major! I think my ears are shot!"

"Don't you talk back to me, greenhorn! We have already lost our Demoman, and I don't know where the hell our Spy's disappeared off to! Those RED team ladies are low in their defense, and it's time to take back our territory once and for all! SO GET OVER HERE BEFORE I HUNT YOU DOWN AND RAM MY ROCKET LAUNCHER UP YOUR ASS AND SHOOT YOU INTO A MILLION PIECES!"

"…now that just ain't right," the BLU Engineer muttered, but he mumbled a quick word of agreement anyway before Major Major could continue his rants and threats about sodomizing him. Turning his earpiece off, he quickly detonated his sentry and stood back, looking on grimly as his machine stopped moving, shivered, and exploded into several pieces of reusable blue metal.

_Another day, another destroyed sentry. _The Mississippi native sighed as he bent down, scooping up the metal and placing the bits into his toolbox for future use (and by future use, he meant "in-fifteen-minutes-or-less" use).

A pebble suddenly hit the top of his hardhat from above, bouncing off and rolling innocently to a stop at his feet.

"…"

Slowly, cautiously, the BLU Engineer reached out and picked up the pebble. From the ground level above, he heard a small gasp, before everything went silent again.

…_shit._

He slowly reached for his pistol. For a moment, thoughts of the RED Spy entered his mind, but he immediately brushed the possibility aside. The Spy had baited him all night in a twisted Cat-and-Mouse game. The man had been cocky, calm, confident…and had never once gasped. Whoever this was, it was someone new.

A boy, from the sound of it.

Even if his sentry hadn't just been demolished, this person was on higher ground and could avoid the shots from the machine. He had to be careful…

"All right…where are ya? Come out and fight me like a man, sissy!"

There was a light footstep from up above…and then a sharp cry. The BLU Engineer snapped his head upwards, pistol in hand and ready to shoot—only to scream when he saw a heavy red toolbox falling straight at his face from above—

_CRASH!_

Bits of red metal spilled out of the toolbox as the BLU Engineer crumpled facefirst into the dirt, dazed and unconscious, but relatively unharmed. From above, the Boy slid down the rocky terrain and scrambled over to the knocked out Engineer, looking worried and frantic as he rolled the older man on his back and began to pat him gently on the cheek.

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, chap! I was just trying to walk past! I didn't mean to drop my stuff on your head! Are you okay?"

The Mississippi native groaned, but didn't get up.

"Well, that's jolly good." The Boy let out a quite sigh of relief, before he stood up and collected his toolbox and spilled metal. He paused momentarily by the BLU Engineer's toolbox, spying several large, uneaten sandwiches wrapped in aluminum foil in the corner. "…you don't mind if I take just a _few_, do you?" the Boy asked sweetly, snatching the food and slipping it in his front pockets.

"…"

"No? How polite of you! I like you, mister!"

When the Boy had everything in order (and had taken as many sandwiches as he could carry), he reached into his pocket and pulled out a health drink, leaving it by the BLU Engineer's hand.

"That'll take the edge off that nasty bump on your head," the Boy explained cheerfully, despite the fact that the Engineer was still unconscious. "And do forgive me? I really didn't mean to attack you from above like that. Sneak attacks aren't part of my game style, really."

"…"

The Boy then sighed, and took a deep breath as he closed his eyes. "I really hope this ends like it normally does back at training," he muttered, his mind slowly settling down to the pattern of systematic planning he had been trained to use in his younger days. "This is a game after all…right? …right. …_right_."

_Mood: Confused._

_Location: Mountain section of the Lumberyard._

_Situation: Not yet dire, but will be soon if no offensive action is taken._

_Objective: Get the dispenser to teammates._

He was calm now. As he opened his eyes, a glazed look fell over his dark irises, as well as a bright, childish grin. Before the BLU Engineer could regain consciousness, the Boy quickly ran off, carrying his heavy toolbox with some difficulty as he headed towards where his ailing teammates were.

--

_BANG!_

"It ain't gonna come off, laddie…"

_BANG!_

"Yes it WILL!" The RED Engineer frowned as he slammed his wrench over and over into the metal spider. "It's gonna come off! It looks like a goddang Sapper, and it might fall off like a goddang Sapper if I hit it enough!"

The Demoman groaned and felt his head. "Do what'cha want, then. Ooooh, my head…my chest…I need a drink…"

"Stay focused! Just keep them BLUs away from me while I try ta figure this out!"

_BANG BANG!_

"Mmmph…" The RED Pyro groaned in the corner. His burns were still too serious for him to rush out and fight as he normally did, but he had been healed by the dispenser just enough for him to stand and grip his weapon. As such, the fire lover sprayed his flames protectively over the control point, keeping at bay the BLU Scout (who had recovered from his ordeal with the Texan) and the BLU Soldier (who still had monstrous burns on his body and was moving MUCH more slowly as a result).

"Youse losers can't keep this up forever!" the BLU Scout yelled angrily, only to yelp and dodge as the Pyro pulled out his shotgun and took aim at the wheat-blonde boy. Major Major, however, retaliated by pulling out his own shotgun, and a strange firefight between the RED Pyro and Major Major commenced.

It was a strange firefight indeed. The battle consisted entirely of one man firing his gun, and then moving slowly and torturously to the side while the other man painfully lifted his arms, fired _his _gun, and then slowly and torturously moved to the side as the cycle repeated itself over and over and over again. It was pathetic…and yet strangely amusing at the same time, so much so that the BLU Scout and RED Demoman both stopped what they were doing to watch the Pyro and Major Major attempt to kill one another without collapsing from their burns.

Meanwhile, the RED Engineer was getting frantic, and the RED Scout's constant shouting in his ear to come and build a dispenser wasn't helping. He had to get the metal _thing_ off the point, but it just wouldn't come off. It wouldn't come off and there were only a few seconds left...

_BANG BANG BANG—pop._

The metal spider suddenly loosened its hold on the point and the timer, which had only three seconds left on the clock, suddenly froze.

For a minute the Texan thought he had done it.

_I did it. I did it! I got this goddamn Sapper off! _"Yipee-ki-ya-hi-yaaa—"

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

The timer suddenly started up again. The seconds raced towards zero before the Engineer even had time to blink or stop his hoedown. "HOLY SH—"

--

The RED Scout squeezed the handle of his baseball bat in agitation, his grip so tight that his knuckles turned a ghastly white from the force. While it hadn't been more than a few seconds since he had tormented the RED Engineer with continuous shouts of "NEEDAHDISPENSERHERE", the Texan had yet to reply or show up to the battlefield.

Well, their side of the battlefield, at any rate.

"You…you call that killing me?" Sarge choked out to the BLU Heavy, his body now so broken and disfigured that both the RED and BLU Medics had absolutely no idea how the man was still alive. "H-ha! I…I am…not dead!"

"WHY WON'T BABY MAN DIE?!" the BLU Heavy roared, frustration clearly evident on his face. Wrapping his arms tightly around the RED Soldier's waist, the Russian _squeezed _and _squeezed _and _squeezed_, until finally…

_CRAAAAAACK!_

Silence.

Then, a small whimper from Sarge. "…Hambone, now I am ordering you to kill me. Please please please please, God, KILL ME!!!"

"Fuck." The RED Scout swore as he ducked his head back down into the safety of the crevice and tapped at his microphone. "Come on, Hardhat! Where the fuck are ya?! ANSWER ME!!!"

Static.

"Perhaps," the RED Medic said gloomily, as the BLU Heavy and BLU Medic continued their torment of the RED Soldier, "perhaps ze Engineer is dead, backstabbed by ze BLU Spy at last."

"WHAT?!" The Bostonian gaped at the Medic in horror. "Hell no, man! Hardhat ain't the type to get gutted by no Spy! Besides, he's got Pyro with him. Pyro's like, a pro Spy checker, er somethin'!"

"But what is problem?" the Heavy asked innocently. "Big Engineer send Tiny Engineer to us, no? We wait for little man to come, he give us ammo, and we beat baby team and win fight! We do not need to wait for Big Engineer."

"…"

"Why is Scout looking at me in strange way, Doktor?"

The RED Scout gave the large Russian a deadpanned look before he turned his attention to the Medic, who in turn was sighing and shaking his head. "Doc, tell him, would ya? Tell Big Guy over here exactly why we shouldn't depend on the Fuckwit to come help us."

"I vill not involve myself in your petty schquabbling, Schweinhund," the Medic replied flatly, pulling off his glasses and wiping the lenses with a piece of cleaning cloth he had hidden under his sleeve. "I haff no qualms vith ze boy like you do. He is villing to become a test subje—I mean, volunteer for my new experiments, and I vill not consider him a fool unless he does something schtupid to change my opinion."

"~WELL HI THERE, GENTS!~"

"…my opinion has changed."

The blood of all nearby RED members completely froze in their veins as the Boy's cheerful voice echoed throughout the area. The Scout lifted his head over the crevice again, and paled when he saw the young Engineer running _straight towards _the BLU Heavy and Medic, seemingly without a care in the world. "I got the dispenser! I'm coming for you guys! Hey…is that Mister Sergeant over there?"

_Oh god. _The RED Scout wanted to cry, shout, fight…shoot something. _Why him? Hardhat, I asked for YOU! NOT FUCKWIT!_

At the Boy's sudden appearance, the BLU Heavy stopped his butchering of the RED Soldier and tossed the broken body in the direction of the crevice, where the army man landed in front of the RED Scout, Heavy, and Medic with a pained "Ow…"

Apparently, the man was still _somehow _alive…

"What is this?" the BLU Heavy exclaimed, blinking at the Boy as the young child ran towards him. "What _sick _man sends _babies _to fight me? Is joke, yes?"

"Forget ze joke, Heavy!" the BLU Medic snapped, quickly catching a glimpse of the toolbox under the Boy's arm. "Shoot him! Shoot him vith your gun before he finds his kamrades!"

"RIGHT, DOKTOR!"

"Shit!" The RED Scout quickly went over to Sarge and grabbed the man's shotgun. ("G-give that back…maggot…ack, the pain…!") Grateful that there were still bullets in the weapon, the Bostonian stood up, fully intent on shooting the BLUs dead when the RED Medic suddenly grabbed him by the arm and forced him back down.

"Vhat do you zink you are doing?!" the German snapped, glaring at the younger man as the Scout tried to yank himself out of the doctor's grasp. "Ze enemy vill riddle your body vith bullets before you can even take one schtep!"

"That Fuckwit's gonna get himself killed!" the Scout snapped back. "Look, I don't like him, but I ain't crazy enough to let 'im get murdered without liftin' a finger!"

"Stop arguing!" the RED Heavy yelled, grabbing the gun and lifting it (and consequentially, Scout and Medic) straight into the air. "What is wrong with team today? We must get out and help Tiny Engineer—"

_Rat-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-ta!_

"~WHEEEEEEEEEE!~"

All three of the men fell silence at the sound of a minigun firing...followed immediately by the Boy's sudden, _joyous _squeals. Slowly, cautiously lifting their heads, they looked above the crevice.

And all of the blood promptly drained from their faces.

The Boy was _giggling_ as he ran in a strange, zigzag manner around the area, miraculously dodging the bullets from the minigun as the BLU Heavy tried his best to mow him down. "WHEEEEE! This is FUN!"

"SHOOT HIM!" the BLU Medic yelled, pulling out his syringe gun when he realized that the Boy wasn't on the offensive. "SHOOT HIM! He is unarmed!"

"I am trying!" the BLU Heavy yelled back, growling as he continued to miss the dervish-like child. "I am trying!"

The Boy laughed, letting his body fall slack as he fell on his back on the ground just as the BLU Heavy tried to fire at his head. The young child quickly rolled away as bullets tore into the ground where his body had been only seconds ago, clutching at his toolbox with a wide grin on his face. "Now _this_ is more like it! Just like the good old days, haha!"

"…ze child is obviously inzane," the RED Medic observed, although his tone sounded more thoughtful than disgusted. "Maybe he has neurological problems, ja? I should _check_ for zis later…"

"ENOUGH OF ALL ZIS!" the BLU Medic roared, finally aiming his syringe gun at the Boy's legs—and hitting his target dead on. The Boy cried out in pain as a needle shot straight into his calf, and he crashed hard onto the dirt, his stolen sandwiches flying through the air as both him and his toolbox fell into the crevice (and landed hard on the RED Soldier's face).

"Ow!" The young child's eyes watered as he stared at the long, terrifying needle that was slowly pumping narcotics into his system. Sniffling, he grabbed the syringe and yanked it out, noting with horror the blood that coated the tip of the needle. Throwing the syringe away, he rubbed his leg with a hurt, childish pout on his face. "That…that wasn't very nice…although for some reason, I feel all floaty and breezy now…hey, what's wrong with my leg?" The Boy lifted his leg slightly, only to have it limply fall back go the ground. "That's funny. I can't feel it anymore…"

"Get…off…me…BOY!" the RED Soldier gasped, using his one good arm to shove the young Engineer off of his twisted frame. The Boy gasped and quickly got off the army man, his eyes widening at the sight of Sarge's twisted, near-dead body.

"SIR! What happened to you?! You look all icky and corpse-ish!!!"

"Never mind that!" the RED Scout yelled, grabbing the Boy by the arm and dragging him towards the toolbox. "Make the goddamn dispenser and we can finally fight back!"

"Right-ee-oh." His earlier, cheerful attitude all but vanished as he opened the toolbox and reached for his wrench. Or where he _thought_ his wrench had been. "Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh?" The Scout glared at the Boy suspiciously. "What 'uh-oh'? I don't like the sound of that."

"Is something ze matter?" the RED Medic asked slowly. The Boy didn't answer—he simply flushed in embarrassment and began to nervously bite his thumbnail. "Mein Gott…"

"What?" The Scout blinked at the Boy's beet red face, and stared at him curiously. "Hey Fuckwit, what'sa matter? Why ain't cha building?"

"Um…well…ACK! DUCK!"

"Wha…? HEY!" The Scout yelped in surprise as the Boy tackled him to the ground, just as a hail of syringes rained upon them. The Scout, the Boy, the Medic, and even the Soldier had managed to avoid getting hit with the needles, but the Heavy, who had not thought to duck, was not so lucky.

--

The BLU Medic shot syringe after syringe in the direction where the Boy had fallen, calculating the arc trajectories in his mind as he tried to get his larger teammate to focus back on the mission. "HEAVY! Schtop eating ze sandviches! Ve must kill ze boy!"

"I want to finish, Doktor!" the BLU Heavy answered stubbornly, accidentally spitting breadcrumbs all over the German's white coat. As soon as the stolen sandwiches had fallen out of the Boy's pockets, the Heavy had been on them faster than a bear on its freshly killed prey. "I have not eaten for long time, and I do not want unsatisfying nuts! I WANT SANDVICH! NOM NOM NOM…" He grabbed another of the Boy's fallen sandwiches and stuffed them gluttonously into his mouth.

The BLU Medic watched him with a twitching eye, flicking the bread crumbs off of his coat as he tried his hardest not to lose his temper. "Fine…eat ze sandvich…but do it quickly! Ve cannot allow ze boy to find his teammates!"

"Da, Doktor…nom nom nom…"

The German rolled his eyes and was about to aim the syringes over the crevice again when he suddenly heard a loud _thud_. He blinked, unsure of what the sound was, when he then heard the horrified scream of the boy he had seen earlier.

"OH NO! Mr. Heavy, get up! GET UP!"

_Ah. I found you, Schweinhund. _He was about to call the Heavy to come and join him, when yet _another _voice arose from the crevice.

"SHIT! Come on, Big Guy, ya can't fall down now! …damn it, Fuckwit! This is all yer fault!"

"My fault?! How the bloody hell is this my fault?"

"If ya woulda just let Hardhat come over here instead of messin' things up—"

"Just what are you trying to say?"

_AHA! Two for ze price of vun! _The BLU Medic grinned wickedly, and motioned for the BLU Heavy to follow him. "Heavy! Come quick! I found the REDS—"

"Yer useless, ya know that, British boy? YER USELESS AND A JACKASS!"

"HEY! At least I'm not dumb enough to leave our Soldier's grenades lying around when they can be used, you ignorant sloth! SO THERE!"

Suddenly, the Boy's head popped over the crevice, looking pinched and _very _angry. The BLU Medic stared dumbly—the sight left him momentarily stunned and taken aback, too much so to shoot, and by the time he recovered, the Boy had thrown something into the air…

…and straight into the BLU Heavy's mouth just as the large Russian tried to take another bite out of his sandwich.

_Nein! What did he throw?! ...A grenade?!_

The BLU Medic paled, and backed away as the BLU Heavy blinked stupidly at him. "Oh nein…Heavy, get zat out of your mouth!"

"Mmmpfh?"

"GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT BEFORE IT—"

Suddenly, there was a suffocating explosion, followed swiftly by flashing lights, muted sounds, and _pain_.

_So...much...pain..._

--

**A/N: In the words of the Announcer…"I failed!" And no, there was no notable explosion from the timer, otherwise I would have written it down…so what happened to RED Engy? I have no idea *yahrightIamsuchaliar* D:**

**Thanks to Charlett and yammiishot for the reviews!**


	13. BLU Scout

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Thirteen: BLU Scout**

…

…

…_fuck._

The wheat-blonde boy stumbled through the woods, clutching his wounds.

It was everywhere. It was fucking_ everywhere_.

His ears bled from the moans of pain and screams of agony that broke the evening silence. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he smelled the blood, sweat, and the lingering scent of gunpowder that clung stubbornly to the air. His limbs, still stiff and slightly paralyzed from the strange end of the fight, refused to move properly.

Oddly, this wasn't putting the BLU Scout in any real danger, as there were no enemies around anymore. But still, it just made him feel _that _much worse now that he was forced to limp a little slower than his usual, preferred pace. It was disgusting, vile…and humiliating.

Because the men of Builders League United had lost. They had lost the fight (supposedly), the territory (supposedly), an unknown number of their team (supposedly)…hell, Scout didn't even know where the hell he currently was, so he was literally _lost._

Supposedly.

"SHIT!" He tripped over a protruding tree root and fell hard on his paralyzed arm, hissing as a jolt of pain shot through the injured limb. Rolling onto his side, the BLU Scout curled into the fetal position and sucked in his breath, waiting for the agony to pass and for some real feeling to come back to his body.

_What the hell happened back there?_

He wished he knew the answer, but he didn't. All he saw—no, _heard_—was the older RED Engineer's horrified scream before a painful shock passed straight through his body. And then his vision became white, and he didn't _see_ anymore.

He only _felt._

He _felt h_is body became as rigid as a board, his muscles tensing to the point where he thought they would become brittle and shatter into a million pieces. He _felt_ his hands clench his scattergun in an automatic reflex, his fingers twisting around the metal handles against his will, unwilling to release its vice-like grip as electric shocks tore through his body.

He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, his chest tightened so much and it hurt like shit and he couldn't fucking _see_ and _wherethefuckwerehisfriendsat_—

_DAMN IT!_

His eyes burst open and he gritted his teeth in pain. Not only was he hurt, but for some reason, his earpiece didn't work anymore. Whatever had happened back there, it not only fucked him up physically, but it also seemed to fuck up everything else as well, whether they were mental, instrumental, or any other mentals that applied to this situation. He couldn't contact his team, he had no idea how to get back to them, and he could hardly move as it was.

Regrets ran through his mind at a mile a minute. He should have grabbed the first aid kit, the one that had lazily hung on the wall of the neutral building. He had seen it through the window, where he caught a glimpse of the RED Engineer hitting the control point insanely for…some weird reason. But still, he should have grabbed it and kept it with him…or at least have used it to heal Major Major.

Now he didn't even know where the army man was, let alone if the guy was alive or dead.

_Shoulda smashed my bat in that Engy's face when I had the chance. Fuckin' REDs—they ain't real people. I'm gonna kill every last one of them fer what they did ta me and the others!_

He was going to kill them, oh yes. And he would relish every minute of it. But that meant he had to move and get back to his base, for he certainly couldn't exact his revenge if he died from his wounds.

"Come on…get up…" Cold sweat began to trickle down his forehead as he forced himself to rise to his feet. The whiteness slowly faded from his vision, and he squinted as blurry outlines of shadowed figures finally entered his line of sight. Groping at nearby trees and bushes for support, the BLU Scout dragged himself back towards…wherever it was that he was going. Hopefully he was groping his way back to the base and not into a watery ditch.

Everything hurt. Everything hurt, and he wanted to be healed. NOW. "Doc…Doc, where are you? Doc…"

His foot pressed down against something soft.

"Ah…!"

The familiar cry of pain stopped the BLU Scout dead in his tracks. Quickly turning his blurry gaze downwards, the wheat-blonde squinted his eyes, slowly regaining his focus as the soft object below him slowly formed into something more identifiable. The Scout gasped, for he soon recognized the hard-faced German in the bloody white lab coat, the German who was currently gasping in pain as the Scout's sharp cleats mercilessly crushed his crotch.

"Ah…nein…" Even unconscious, the BLU Medic was frighteningly aware of his surroundings. "I vould still…like to haff children…vun day…_aaaahh_…"

"Doc!" Despite the less-than-pleasant situation, the BLU Scout's eyes lit up with relief as he removed his foot from the doctor's privates. Limping to the Medic's side, the Scout quickly kneeled down and pressed on various areas, checking for a pulse and making sure that the German wasn't mortally wounded. "Crap, man…what the hell happened to you? You look like apeshit."

The Medic groaned, but he didn't open his eyes.

Of course, whether the Medic was awake or not didn't deter the Scout—the wheat-blonde continued to ask questions without even waiting for an answer. "I hope ya didn't crack yer skull. That would suck, ya know? I don't who else we lost tonight, and I can't contact anyone on my headset. Hey, where's Heavy? Was anyone else with youse two?"

The Medic winced in pain, mumbling something as his eyelids began to flutter.

"Dude, you really _are_ alive!" The BLU Scout's face broke out into a large grin as the German stirred in his pain-induced sleep. "Agh, now I really wish I had the first aid kit! Damn it, if only I could use the medigun…I could use it right now, and my legs and arms wouldn't feel all weird and stuff. And I could heal you, and then we could get the hell outta here—"

"HELLO?! IS ANYONE HERE?!"

A loud, English-accented voice suddenly echoed throughout the dark forest. The BLU Scout froze; the voice didn't belong to any of his teammates, he was sure of that.

_Fuck, is it one of them REDs?!_

He listened intently, trying to determine if there were other voices. When only the sounds of the first speaker reached his ears, he knew that whoever this was, this person was alone.

Gripping his scattergun, he stood on his stiff, shaking legs, suppressing the urge to shudder at the foreboding darkness. In the cover of greenery, the Scout limped towards the speaker, peeking through the leaves as he managed to catch a glimpse of the intruder.

…_shit, it's that pussywillow RED Engy!_

The younger RED Engineer was standing only a few yards away, checking underneath bushes and thickets with a worried look on his face. "Darn it, why did those blokes have to scatter after the explosion? Hey, is anyone from RED here? If you are, can you help me get back to our base?"

"…"

There was a moment of silence as the boy glanced nervously at his surroundings, before continuing in a lower, less confident whisper. "…and if you're from BLU, don't come out. Or actually…even if you're from BLU, come out and keep me company, will you? Fight's over anyway, and I really don't want to be here by my lonesome!"

"…" The BLU Scout remained quiet, his trigger finger twitching as he tightened his grip on his gun.

"Fine! Be that way, you pricks! BAH!" The younger RED Engineer let out a shriek of vexation, before he angrily resumed his search for his teammates. "Bloody hell…it's cold and strange here too…oh, I really don't like being ALONE!"

_...damn. _The BLU Scout found himself staring at the ranting Engineer, not with the usual anger or contempt in which he normally viewed the REDs, but instead with genuine surprise. _The pussywillow's throwin' a fuckin' temper tantrum because he's __**lost**__? What is he, fuckin' five-years-old?_

The BLU Scout shook his head, forcing the thoughts from his mind. Temper tantrums aside, the guy was still a RED, and REDs didn't deserve to live no matter what their age happened to be. Grimacing, the BLU Scout took aim at the enemy Engineer's back, muttering a sarcastic goodbye to the Englishman as he squeezed the trigger.

_Click._

"What the fuck?" The BLU Scout stared at his gun in shock. Why didn't it fire?

He didn't have time to answer that, though. The _click_ had been loud enough to alert the younger RED Engineer, and the boy stared hard at the bush that was currently sheltering the BLU Scout. "Um, hello?" The RED Engineer took a small step towards the bush. "Um, Scout? Is that you trying to scare me? If it is…it's working and I'm about ten seconds away from wetting myself. So come out, will you?"

The BLU Scout said nothing. He quickly recocked the bolt in his gun, made sure that there were cartridges in the chambers and aimed again—the younger RED Engineer was stepping far too close for comfort now—and pulled the trigger once more.

_Click._

FUCK.

"Hello?" Without warning, a gloved hand pushed the leaves aside, and the BLU Scout found himself staring into the curious gaze of the younger RED Engineer, who in turn was blinking at him innocently from behind his black goggles. "HEY! You're a BLUIE! What are you doing here, chap?" The young boy scratched his head from underneath his hardhat. "The fight ended some time ago, didn't it? Where's the rest of your team?"

At this point the BLU Scout wasn't really thinking anymore; he was pulling the trigger at the RED member again and again, wondering why on earth his weapon still wasn't firing, wondering why his legs and arms still felt like it was being pricked by pins and needles…and wondering why this son-of-a-bitchin' bastard wasn't even trying to attack him.

"…I don't blame them for scattering, Bluie. I mean, it's hard to ignore the higher-up screaming, 'YOU FAILED!' at the end and everything," the younger RED Engineer blathered on, obliviously unaware of the BLU Scout's attempts to blow his brains out. "Say, does that mean we lost control of the field? Does this area belong to you chaps now? It's weird, though…if we lost, I'm pretty sure we would have gotten word of that…oy, are you hurt?" Cocking his head to the side, the RED member reached for a particularly bloody cut on the BLU Scout's face, only to have his hand slapped away viciously. "OW! Hey, what the—"

"GET AWAY!" The wheat-blonde quickly scrambled backwards, tossing his useless scattergun aside as he whipped out his baseball bat. "Get away from me, you faggot! Don't touch me!"

"But you're bleeding!" the younger RED Engineer persisted, reaching into his pockets and pulling out a roll of bandages and a small bottle. "Really now, you don't look to be in top form. Lemme just have a quick look at you, and…oh." He faltered off when he saw the BLU Medic stirring on the ground several feet away, and his eyes widened in shock. "Good lord, your doctor's here too?! He needs more help than you do! Quick, give him this! It should hold him over until your team comes!"

The younger RED Engineer tried to push the small bottle in the BLU Scout's hands, only to have the wheat-blonde grab the bottle and toss it hard at his head.

"OW! What the heck was that for, you jerk?!"

"You think I'm stupid?" the BLU Scout yelled angrily, his fingers curling around the handle of his baseball bat. He tried his best not to cringe as every muscle in his body screamed in protest at his sudden movements. "You think I'm gonna let'cha _poison _me with that weirdo bottle just like that? NO THANKS, BUB!"

"Poison?!" The younger RED Engineer looked horrified at the very idea. "Good god, man! Wherever would you get the idea that I would poison you? That's just not a very nice thing to do!"

"Enemies ain't supposed ta be nice, asshole! We're in a fuckin' _war_!"

"But the fight's over for the time being! There's no need to fight during ceasefire!" The boy then frowned, before he unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a quick swing. A brief bit of gagging and choking almost immediately ensued, with the boy looking as though he suddenly wanted to die as he forcefully, almost painfully swallowed the medicine and gave the Scout a nauseated but oddly triumphant grimace when he was done. "THERE! See? I told you it wasn't poisoned! It's bitter and disgusting and icky-poo-ish, but it's still good medicine. Ick." The Engineer's face turned green, and he turned his face to the side to spit out the vile flavor that was left in his mouth. "EWWWW! BLAH, IT'S ALL GROSS AND WEIRD!"

"DUDE!" The BLU Scout stared at the puking Engineer in sheer disbelief. "Ya gotta be kididn' me! Do you think I'm an idiot, or are ya just makin' a bad joke?"

"…"

"You gonna answer me any time this _year_, bub?!"

Wiping his lips with his sleeve, the RED Engineer bit his lip, twiddling his fingers childishly as he stared at the vomit-covered ground beneath his feet. "But I'm not joking," he murmured pathetically, his face filled to the brim with uncertainty. "We always stopped fighting at ceasefire. We can't fight each other after the fight is over! That's _cheating_!"

"…dude, are you even listening to yourself?"

"Why, yes I am. Do I not make sense to you, Bluie-Bluie-Scoot-Scoot?"

"WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?!"

"Aaaaaahhh…" A loud groan from behind the two boys cut through the tense and unpleasant conversation, and both the BLU Scout and the RED Engineer turned towards the injured BLU Medic, who was painstakingly trying to get himself up with only one arm (for the other arm was completely mutilated and absolutely useless for the time being). "Ach…vhere are ve? Scout? Is zat you?"

"DOC!" Shoving the younger RED Engineer away, the BLU Scout limped towards the BLU Medic, bending down as he helped the doctor sit up. "Thank god you're okay! Quick, heal me with your medigun! Then I can kill the RED dude and we can both get the fuck outta here!"

"Excuse me?!" the Engineer yelped, shrinking away from the wheat-blonde in horror. "Hey! I don't appreciate you making horrid jokes about murdering people! That isn't very nice!"

"I KNOW ZAT VOICE!" the BLU Medic shrieked, his eyes darting wildly until they landed upon the young Engineer's face (who unfortunately looked like a nervous wreck at this point). "Zat is ze demon child! Ze insane vun vho threw a _grenade_ into Heavy's _mouth_!"

"He WHAT?!" The BLU Scout stared at the younger RED Engineer, completely flabbergasted as his mind tried to process what he had just heard. "W-what the fuck, dude? Shit, is our Heavy even alive?!"

The Medic gave the Scout a deadpanned look. "Vhy don't you zink about zat for a moment, ja?" the German muttered flatly, grabbing at the wheat-blonde's arm as he attempted (and failed) to pull himself to his feet. "Zink about ze chances of a man surviving a grenade explosion…in his mouth. Vhen you figure zat out, and if you can figure out vhere Heavy's pieces might be lying, ve can continue zis conversation."

"Um…" The young RED Engineer cautiously glided towards the BLU Medic and, ignoring the Scout's demands for him to go away, bent down on his knees and tried to tend to the German's wounded arm. "Doctor of My Enemy, please know that when I threw that grenade, it wasn't personal. Um…your heavy weapons expert is okay, right? Um, if you see him, could you tell him that I'm sorry, and that I'll try not to throw stuff in his mouth the next time we fight?"

"…"

"…"

"Get away from me, Dummkopf!" the BLU Medic snarled, whipping out his Ubersaw with his good arm and brandishing it at the boy threateningly. "Now I am certain zat you are a few plums short of a fruit pie! I might be injured and somevhat immobile, but I can still kill you!"

"Eep!" The boy backed away from the doctor's reach, holding his hands up as a pacifying gesture. "Boy, you gents are taking this game to a whole new level! Really, has no one here heard of a ceasefire around these parts?"

"…"

"…"

The BLU Scout and Medic exchanged unsure and awkward glances for all of a moment, neither one of them saying a word to the other. But there was no time for polite introductions or merry-making, and as the Medic soon occupied himself with taking out anesthetics, bandages, and iodine so that he could carefully clean his wounds with such precision, the Scout's awkwardness soon gave way to anger and frustration.

"Dude, will ya shaddup about that ceasefire bullshit?" the BLU Scout snapped, poking the tip of his bat a bit harder than necessary against the RED Engineer's forehead. ("HEY! Knock it off, Bluie! That hurt!") "I mean really, even if a round's over for da day, that don't mean us BLUs and REDs can all get together afterhours and get a sodee pop!"

"But why not?" the Engineer asked innocently. "A round is a just round. There's no need to carry animosities outside the battleground…and I prefer hot fudge sundaes myself."

"We're fuckin' enemies!" the BLU Scout yelled, grabbing the Engineer by the collar and shaking him roughly in between words. "Don't you get that, you freak?! We—are going—to KILL YOU!"

"B-but w-w-whyyyyy?" the Engineer stammered, his hardhat falling off from the hard shakes as he tried to wiggle out of the enemy Scout's grip. "I h-have n-nothing against you b-b-blokes, honest! I was just t-trying to help you!"

"You know how you can help us? BY DYING, YOU ASSHOLE!"

"_Hey, Fuckwit! You alive?_"

A loud voice suddenly blared through the young RED Engineer's earpiece, and this surprised the BLU Scout long enough for the English boy to slip out of his grasp and activate his earpiece. "Hey Scout! That you? Where are you?" The RED Engineer paused to let his teammate answer, before his eye twitched unpleasantly. "There's no need for name calling. Huh? What do you mean, there's something wrong at base?" The boy's eyes widened considerably as he listened to the garbled response. "Is everyone okay—no wait, never mind. Don't tell me. Can you pick me up? I really don't know where I am…don't yell at me, you jerk! _It's not my fault_!"

The argument between the Engineer and his teammate caused the RED member to shut out the environment around him, and because of this he failed to realize that the BLU Scout was quietly approaching him from behind. In one hand, the wheat-blonde held his metal bat, raising the weapon and swinging at the Engineer's unprotected head. The boy, as if by instinct, turned with wide eyes, but by then it was too late.

_Clunk._

--

**A/N: And then the Boy died. The End. I'm only joking, of course. You guys can put down your pitchforks now… **

**Seriously though, I slipped on some ice and nearly broke my hip this week, so I'm not exactly feeling great about myself or this chapter. I'm afraid some of my bad feelings might have leaked in here…if it did, please tell me. I can't stand cruddy chapters and I will fix it ASAP. (New policy of mine, especially since I think the previous chapter tanked. *slams head against desk*)**

**Thanks to Charlett and yamiishot for the reviews.**


	14. RED Heavy, RED Medic

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Fourteen: RED Heavy, RED Medic**

"Uhhh." The Boy moaned in pain, raising a hand to his aching, bandaged head. He sat up and slowly opened his eyes, only to have them suddenly snap open when he remembered what he had been doing last…and who he had been with. "BLUIE YOU MEAN, MEAN PERSON! YOU HIT ME!"

"..."

The room was empty.

Blinking nervously, the young RED Engineer looked around to see that he was under the covers of someone else's bed. A very large bed in a large, but very lacking in decor, room. There were a few pieces of furniture around along with a closet, a table that held several plates of sandwiches, and various shells of what appeared to be minigun ammunition scattered around the room. A fan and several lights adorned the ceiling, while a larger-than-average sized sleeping bag was laid on the floor next to the bed.

_Oh my god, where am I? Did I get kidnapped? Am I at the BLU base? HAVE INDECENT THINGS BEEN DONE TO MY FORM WHILE I WAS ASLEEP?_

He threw a cursive, downwards glance at his body, making sure that he was fully clothed. No, his captor or captors hadn't done anything inappropriate to him. All of his limbs seemed to be in place, at any rate.

Suddenly, the door at the other end of the room creaked open, causing the already nervous Boy to panic in fear. "ACK!" He leapt on top of the bed and struck a defensive position. "GET AWAY FROM ME YOU MEAN BLU PERSON WHO HITS PEOPLE IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD WHEN THEY'RE NOT LOOKING! I'LL KICK YOU IF YOU TRY TO HURT ME AGAIN!"

"I bring breakfast!" the RED Heavy roared cheerfully, only to have a foot flying straight at his head. The Russian quickly switched the platter of food to his right hand while using his left to block the attack. "HAHH!" He threw a boulder-seized fist into his opponent's chest and knocked him back onto the floor…only to gasp upon realizing who it was. "NYET! Many apologies! I did not know it was you, Tiny Engineer!"

"Waaaah…" The Boy lay on the floor, gasping and twitching in a dizzied agony.

_Health remaining: 3 percent! BLOODY HELL, ARE MY RIBS BROKEN?!_

Setting the platter down on a tray, the RED Heavy bent over his injured teammate in worry. "Again, many apologies! It is just that you attacked me and instinct took over, da? Be thankful I did not have Sasha with me, or there would be nothing left of you! Hahahaha!" The Russian laughed good-naturedly, unaware of the fact that the Boy's face had become red with both agony and embarrassment. "Ah, I am sorry for knocking you over! Let me dust you off, komrade." The Heavy leaned down, only to have the young Engineer pelt him furiously with his own pillow.

"You think I'm going to fall for that, Mr. Creepy BLU Spy?!" the Boy wailed, all the while continuing to beat the Heavy's midsection with the stuffed sleeping accessory. (He would have aimed for the head, but he was unfortunately _dismally_ shorter than his opponent and had to strike whatever was in range.) "You—you're just _disguised _as Mr. Heavy, so you can try to get my guard down to hurt me again with your pointy, pointy knife! Darn it, change back into your true form, you—YOU HOOLIGAN! MISDEMEANER! POOPIE HEAD!"

"WAH! ACK! NO STOP! I was not going to hurt you—STOP!" The Heavy grabbed the pillow, only to have the Boy jerk it away and hold the object protectively against his chest. "Tiny Engineer, you are at home base! I am not baby team Spy!"

"Don't you give me that!" The Boy backed away slowly, holding onto the pillow even tighter. "I'm not stupid…most of the time! I have _never_ been in this room before…and if I was really at my own base, I would be in the medical bay…wouldn't I?" he added meekly, staring at the Heavy with large, round, childish eyes.

In response, the Heavy cocked his head to the side in confusion. "But you have never set foot in my room until now," the large Russian replied as-a-matter-of-factly, scratching his head as he set the platter of food onto a nearby table. "It makes sense that you have never seen it before, no? Also, medic bay is full because half of team is injured and are taking all the beds there, so Doktor told me to bring you to empty room. That is why I pick mine!" A happy grin then spread across the large Russian's face as he took the glass of milk off the platter and drank it.

The Boy stared at the Heavy in disbelief. _H-he's drinking the beverage he brought for me…_

Slurp, slurp, slurp. "My room is closest to medic bay and kitchen! That way, Tiny Engineer can rest _and _eat plenty of snackings to recover from injury!" Slurp, slurp, slurp.

The young Engineer pouted slightly, still not completely convinced (and somewhat sour about losing his glass of milk), but starting to soften his resolve ever so slightly. "So…so you're not trying to trick me, right? You're not Mr. Creepy BLU Spy just pretending to be Mr. Heavy, right?"

"Of course not!" the Heavy exclaimed loudly, chomping noisily on a large forkful of the Boy's bacon. "If I see baby team Spy over here, I will crush him with bare hands! But…" Here, the Russian's face broke out into a frown. "Is Tiny Engineer feeling better now? You were bleeding badly from head injury when Doktor and I found you in forest."

"B-bleeding, you say?" Biting his lip nervously, the Boy touched his bandaged head again, nearly shrieking at the sudden jolt of pain that washed over his cranium. "OW! The _horror_! That—that darn Bluie-Bluie-Scoot-Scoot did this, didn't he? Ooooooh, when I see him again, I'll—I'll—I'll do something so horrible and demeaning that I haven't even _thought_ of it yet!"

"Then how will you know if what you plan to do is horrible and demeaning if you have not thought of it yet?" the Heavy asked curiously, munching on the Boy's toast.

"…"

"…nom nom nom…"

The Boy pouted and tugged at the end of a loose, bloody bandage. "I don't know. I'm just mad that I got hurt. I'm not supposed to get _hurt_…they promised me…"

"But wound is badge of honor, little man!" the Heavy remarked through a mouthful of scrambled eggs, slapping the Boy (a bit too painfully) on the back. "Now you have fine scar like rest of team! Even your hair looks more manly now!"

"My hair?" Blinking, the Boy ran his fingers over his bandages and hair, wondering what the Russian was talking about…when he realized that his fingers weren't running through any hair at all. "…oh no." He leapt from his bed and, ignoring the throbbing within his skull and chest, he ran over to the mirror with wide eyes, unwilling to believe what he was seeing. "Oh my…OH MY GOD! MY HAIR! WHERE DID All OF MY HAIR GO?!"

The Heavy wiped the waffle crumbs from his mouth and cocked his head to the side, unsure of why the small, now bald boy in front of him was ranting and raving like a lunatic. "Is there problem with hair, little man?"

"YES, there's a problem! I have no hair _left_, Mr. Heavy! It—it got up and ran away, and it's never going to come back!"

"Um…Tiny Engineer? Hair cannot get up and run away…"

"Oh god, Bluie scalped me, didn't he?! Like—like those barbarians and savages I used to read about in my books, the ones who scalped their enemies in an act of dominance, or something of that sort! Oh god, when I get my hands on him…!"

"Vhat is vith zis NOISE?!" the RED Medic snapped, stepping into the room with a look of annoyance and agitation on his face. The doctor's eyes immediately locked onto the Boy, who in turn ran up to the Medic and grasped desperately at the front of the older man's white lab coat.

"S-sir! My hair is gone! I'm bald and decrepit now…!" The Boy made frantic motions towards his bandaged, hairless head, to which the Medic replied with only a snort.

"You are overreacting," the German replied dully. "It vill grow back. Release me now and I may decide not to kill you."

"BUT MY HAIR!"

"Little child, you required schtitches to survive ze night. Had I not shaved your empty little head, I vould not haff been able to sew up your vounds, and you vould haff died of blood loss and brain hemorrhaging."

"...but…my hair…" The Boy's voice became more and more childish as he loosened his hold on the doctor. "I've always had it _long_…and Erik told me never to cut it…"

The doctor grabbed the Boy's hands and forcefully extracted the young child's grip from his coat. "It vas in ze vay. As a man, you are better off vith it short. Now, be zankful I even took ze extra time to tend to you…so sit down like a good little dummkopf and be _quiet_."

"…yes, sir." Like a small, lost little puppy, the Boy shifted around and moped unhappily as the Medic moved in to inspect him.

"I honestly did not zink you vould make it," the German drawled, his tone bored as he peered into the Boy's pupils, before reaching up and checking the bandages. "You vere lucky. A part of your skull vas fractured and you vere bleeding quite heavily vhen ve found you. I vas of the initial opinion zat you vere dead."

The disappointment in the doctor's voice was more than evident, although the Boy wasn't entirely sure why. Mistaking the Medic's displeasure with his failure to prevent himself from getting attacked by the BLU Scout, the Boy flushed and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I-I'll try to be more accommodating during the next battle, sir. I'm sorry if I disappointed you."

The Medic didn't reply. However, a small corner of his lip twitched upwards at the Boy's apparent naivety, and formulations of his next "experiment" bubbled within his brain.

"…and I just wanted to thank you for rescuing me, good doctor," the Boy chirped on, oblivious to the increasingly maniacal smile on the Medic's face. "I really hadn't expected to get hurt."

"…either ze BLU's arm vas weaker zan usual, or he missed," the doctor said finally, putting his thoughts of his so-called "research" on hold. "You vere unconscious for over tventy-four hours, but other zan zat, you appear to be fine. Painkillers and more rest should be enough for your recovery." The manic smile then returned. "Perhaps…perhaps I might even give you some of ze _new _painkillers I've created…"

The Boy laughed in innocent appreciation. "Thanks, good doctor! But…" He rubbed the back of his neck uncertainly, before he looked up worriedly at the Medic. "M-may I ask how the others are doing? Where's Mr. Demoman? AND BOB! Is he okay? And where's the Master Engineer?"

"Meh, zey are recovering," the Medic replied shortly, dressing new bandages around the young Engineer's head. "Ze Pyro and ze Soldier…zheir treatment vill take some time, but as for the Master Engineer and ze drunkard…" The German paused. "Vell, ze vounds zey sustained vere veaker zan yours, but ze circumstances vere…different, to say ze least."

"Different? How?"

"It is hard to explain, considering zat we are at ze Lumberyard, not at vun of ze usual industrial branches of our company…" Tying off the last of the clean, new bandages, the Medic frowned and pointed at the doorway. "If you are really so concerned, zen you can go to ze medical vard and speak vith zem yourself."

"Right-ee-oh! I'll head on over there right away!" The Boy ran past the Medic and out into the hall.

"Wait!" the Heavy called out, picking up the platter of food. "Do you not want to eat first, Tiny Engineer?"

"You can have it!" the Boy yelled back, stopping and turning back to the larger man with a grin. "I mean, you already ate it all anyway, Mr. Heavy…"

The Russian blinked, then smiled sheepishly at the empty breakfast platter in his hands. "Oh. Sorry. I did not mean to…it is just that I am still hungry and usually Big Engineer helps Doktor make food." He paused when he noticed that the Boy wasn't going any further into the hall, and was instead leaning strangely against the wall while holding his head and chest in pain. "Tiny Engineer? What is wrong?"

"…my head hurts…" The child's smile suddenly faded, and he pressed a hand against his forehead. "My chest is killing me…"

"Your chest?" The Medic walked over to the Boy and gently prodded his torso, frowning when the young Engineer whimpered in pain. "Vhat is zis all about? Your chest vas not injured vhen I checked you last night. Vhy are vun of your ribs broken now?"

"…um…I dunno." The Boy turned his gaze to the floor and chewed the end of his thumbnail nervously. "Um…horrendous act of God, I suppose? Eh heh heh…" A nervous, jittery laugh slipped past the Boy's lips, but the Medic, forever observant and aware, noted that the young Engineer occasionally twitched in the Heavy's direction. The German turned to the Heavy for an explanation, only to have the large Russian shrug innocently in response.

Because the Heavy honestly didn't know that _he _was the cause of the Boy's newest ailment, being the barbaric yet simple soul that he was.

Still, as the Medic forced a few "experimental" painkillers down the young Engineer's throat, the Heavy burst into laughter and patted the Boy on the back (still quite painfully). "You are funny, Tiny Engineer! Come—follow me!" Slinging a thick arm around the Boy's waist, he hefted the Boy over his shoulder like a bag of old laundry and happily carried the child down the hall. "I will take you to rest of team and you can enjoy breakfast with them! That sounds good, da?"

"D-da," the Boy gasped, wincing as he felt one of his ribs move. Not too far behind, the Medic followed the two with a less-than-pleased look on his face, scolding the Russian to carry the child in a more careful and significantly less painful position.

"As much as he is vorth to me dead, he can provide much more information for mein experiments alive! So make sure zat his ribs is not piercing his lungs!"

--

**A/N: …yah.**

**Thanks to Charlett, yamiishot, amd MasterMillerLITE for the reviews.**


	15. RED Spy

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Fifteen: RED Spy**

The fight had been, to put it mildly, a disaster.

It wasn't that he had never experienced failure before. The RED Spy had gone through his share of fuckups, all of which ranged from the local to the international scale. He cursed at every failed backstab, swore at the _many _idiocies of his so-called teammates, and had even undergone a true case of discomfort when he had accidentally impregnated a woman back in France…a woman whose pregnant body was mysteriously found in the river a few days later.

But for every failure, he had had at least ten successes, successes that grew to the point where countless people involved with Builders League United had fallen before him, at the whim of people more entangled in the criminal elements of Reliable Excavation Demolition than he felt comfortable with. His work was solitary, calculating and cunning, and most of those who were employed with him respected that.

To protect an investment, murders of convenience were sometimes necessary to ease his employer's current state of life in order to ensure his own future success. He could not—could _not_—fail her.

However…

The RED Spy's lips twisted into a bitter scowl as he carefully regarded the remains of what had once been a functioning control point. Although he was no holder of multiple PhDs , anyone with a functioning brain (he did not include Scout or Heavy) could tell from a glance that the point was damaged beyond repair. Not only did this mean that the REDs no longer controlled the Lumberyard, but it also meant that _neither _team could take full control the territory until the mechanics of the neutral building were fixed…or until one team was completely obliterated.

Normally he wouldn't have worried that much, as he would have sent for an Engineer to fix the confounded machinery. However, the older of the two RED Engineers was bedridden in the medical bay, and he didn't trust that incompetent Boy to find his way out of a wet paper bag.

Ugh. He could already feel the devastating impact this would have on his wallet…

He bent down, picking up the twisted remains of the mechanical spider that the BLU Spy had so benignantly left on the control point during the fight. The RED Spy grimaced—he had to give his adversary some credit, for he hadn't expected such a _small toy_ to cause so many problems in the span of one night.

As far back as he could remember, he had always relegated the BLU Spy as a contemptuous fool; just another man in a mask with no talent, no appreciation for the craft, unhinged and resorting to rash, unplanned actions.

It was shameful, really.

There was an art to this kind of job, after all, and the European knew that better than anyone. That was why he had his formidable reputation, and was still alive and free to perpetuate it. He was an expert. He considered the BLU Spy to be an inconvenience (much like that ridiculous Boy), and was of the opinion that the fool would face the fate of all inconveniences soon enough.

But still…

"That damn lunatic," he grumbled.

And he truly, honestly believed that his BLU counterpart was insane. Because really, didn't this predicament hurt the BLUs as well as the REDs? What on earth had the BLU Spy been thinking, using that strange device without even knowing what it was? The RED Spy had seen, from a safe distance, members of both RED and BLU get electrocuted that night, so obviously the BLU Spy had not bothered to inform his teammates of his little gamble. Did the man possess no logic in his brains at all?

And most importantly…where did the fool even get that device in the first place?

The European frowned and pulled out a new cigarette from his case. That device wasn't a new invention of the BLUs, he was certain of at least that much. According to his sources, the BLU Engineer was younger than the Texan, had less PhDs, and was about as new and as inexperienced as the Boy. There was no way the Mississippi native could have created…whatever that thing was.

"I see that you are hard at work as always, amigo…"

In one fluid motion, the RED Spy pulled out his revolver and blew a hole into the wall, right where the BLU Spy's head had been only a second ago. The BLU Spy then whipped out his own gun and opened fire, blasting away furiously at the RED Spy who in turn dove behind the safety of an adjacent wall.

Flicking his wrist, the sharp razor of a butterfly knife suddenly appeared in the European's hand, and the BLU Spy, who recognized the sound immediately, quickly ran around the wall and unloaded several more rounds onto his counterpart. However, the moment he fired, the RED Spy cloaked and vanished from the BLU Spy's sight.

"Really, now!" the BLU Spy groaned, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. "That is unfair, non? You take half the fun out of our little skirmishes if you keep sparring with such—such seriousness!"

There was no answer; only the sound of a small twig snapping. Rounding immediately upon the noise, the BLU Spy pulled the trigger…only to pale when an empty clicking noise reached his ears.

The gun needed to be refilled. "Merde…"

The RED Spy suddenly reappeared in his line of sight, and the BLU Spy could only dodge as his counterpart slashed furiously at him, trying to pull out his own knife and avoid the whistling blade of his enemy at the same time, until finally a slash of red appeared on his blue pinstripe suit. At the sight of his blood soiling the expensive fabric, the BLU Spy stopped dead in his tracks, his shock too overpowering for his mind to register that he was still in a life-threatening situation.

"You—YOU bastard! This was a _brand new suit_, I'll have you know, and you've gotten blood all over it—MON DIEU!" Stunned, the BLU Spy found himself twisted into a hold, the RED Spy's razor leaping to his throat. "…ah." The BLU Spy coughed, before giving his counterpart a nervous grin. "Oh dear. I've made quite a mess of things, have't I?"

"Undoubtedly so," the RED Spy sneered. He was always of the opinion that the BLU Spy was a bit transparent, but he also didn't strike the European as being particularly bright, or the kind to think things through. No, the BLU espionage agent simply acted, and then reacted to the situation around him.

_Confounded oaf, he's no better than our Scout._

"You know for a fact that I wasn't going to kill you, you foolishly foolish fool," the BLU Spy said simply, attempting to pull his arm out from the RED Spy's tight grasp. "That wouldn't be very fun at all. You're one of the few reasons why I decided to transfer to this territory in the first place."

"Spare me the details," the RED Spy replied dryly. "After that ludicrous stunt you pulled off last night, it would be highly unprofessional _not _to kill you." He pressed the blade harder against the BLU Spy's neck, making the man cringe slightly from the increased pressure.

"Amigo, you're being ridiculous. I assure you, I was not here to harm you. Had that been my intention, you would have been dead by now—"

"Watch your tongue, or I will slice it clean out of your mouth."

"Duly noted." The BLU Spy immediately fell silent, which allowed the RED Spy a few seconds to regard him carefully. The European in no way considered his BLU rival to be any kind of threat (not that there was a great deal that the RED Spy considered a threat, BLU Pyro excluded), but the BLU Spy had an element of unpredictability about him, hence why four men of RED were currently either dead or in the medical bay.

Also, it never hurt to be cautious.

"You are so cruel to me," the BLU Spy complained childishly, his voice jerking the European out of his train of thoughts. "Here I am, courteous enough to come and speak with you about the events of our previous battle, and you hold a knife to my throat in return. The shame, considering we are both practitioners of the same profession."

The RED Spy's eye twitched, before he tilted his head towards the BLU Spy's ear. "We are not the same, you and I," he said in a dangerously soft voice. "I treat it as an art, and for you it seems to be a twisted little game. The result of poor planning and impulsive, bad decisions."

"Now you're just hitting below the belt, _amigo_," the BLU Spy growled, his cordial tone now taking on a harder, colder quality. "That was uncalled for, seeing as your description seems to better match that child Laborer on your team. I could have easily slit his throat and left him for the wolves to eat, but I didn't because I am such a _nice_ man. Besides, that accursed toy belonged to that brat in the first place, and I felt that it would be rude to kill the source of my amusement."

"What?!" The RED Spy blinked, loosening his grip on his rival in sheer surprise. The BLU Spy, predicting his movement, saw how his RED counterpart shifted his weight and immediately seized the opportunity to twist himself out from underneath the RED Spy's grasp. Before the European could figure out what had happened, his face suddenly slammed against the wall, with his arm tightly pinned behind his back. Cursing aloud, he struggled for a few moments, but the futility of doing so was clear almost immediately.

"My dearest adversary," the BLU Spy said in a mockingly cheerful tone as he pushed the RED Spy harder against the wall, "I do not have the_ motivation_ to kill you, but I most certainly have the _means_. I'd rather you not provide me with the former, if that's alright with you?"

The RED Spy didn't move or struggle, but he nevertheless threw a hateful glare at his rival. "If you consider yourself a professional at all," he hissed, "then kill me and be done with it."

"But I already told you that killing you _now _isn't any fun at all," the BLU Spy complained, which only earned him a groan from the European.

"If you insist on being useless, then at least explain what you said before."

"About what? How killing you isn't any fun for me at this point in time?"

"…" The RED Spy took a deep breath, counting to ten mentally before he found the will to continue in a calm, collected voice. "The Boy, you idiot. Tell me about the Boy and that—that thing that demolished the control point."

"Oh. _That_." The BLU Spy blinked at his counterpart, before he shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, I can't tell you more than what you already know. It would be easier to ask the child what that _thing _is, non? After all, he is the creator."

"And how exactly," the RED Spy asked dryly, "did you come across _that _bit of information? If that _thing _belonged to the idiot Boy, why did you have it in your possession? Why did the child not mention any of this to me or my team?"

"What can I say, amigo?" The BLU Spy grinned and loosened his grip on the European, taking a step back as he adjusted his clothing. "The child's reasons are his own. As for me, I simply wanted to play with his toy. That is all." His grin widened as he watched the RED Spy straighten out his rumpled jacket and tie. "And as to how I came upon the little boy's little device…well, that is a bit harder to explain, so let's just keep it secret for now, shall we?"

"…you can't be serious," the RED Spy exclaimed, his eye twitch returning with full force. "Damn it, you will tell me _everything_ you know, or so help me—"

Laughing, the BLU Spy winked as he vanished into thin air and left as quietly as he had entered, leaving no indication to show he had been there at all.

--

"So you're sure you're okay, sir?" the Boy mumbled, stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth as he sat on the edge of the RED Engineer's bed.

"Uh-huh." The Engineer nodded while shoveling a bowlful of cereal and milk down, noticing that the Boy shared the same speed and appetite that he and the Scout had. "My limbs are already feelin' a whole lot better, thanks to Doc. I'll be up an' about in a few days, tops. But ya know…" The Texan glanced at the unmoving RED Scout, who was currently laying face-first onto the cold floor of the medical bay. "Ya didn't have to hit Scout on the back of the head with that lamp just because he was stealin' yer pancakes."

"I do not mind Scout not being awake, da?" the Heavy commented, poking the unconscious Scout with his index finger. "Is much quieter around here now."

"Heavy, schtop touching ze Schweinhund," the Medic drawled. "You vill get his _germs_."

"Anyway," the Engineer went on, attempting to block out the incessant chatter of the background, "what I'm tryin' ta say is that…well, this inner fightin' between you two boys has gotta cease. I mean, we can always make more pancakes, fer cryin' out loud…"

"MMPH?!" With his cheeks bulging with half-chewed scrambled eggs, the Boy threw an outraged look in the Engineer's direction, gulping and slapping one hand on the empty plate that had once held the previously mentioned pancakes. "Sir! It wasn't just about the pancakes! That—that scoundrel insulted my physical appearance! It was downright embarrassing, it was!"

"But you really do look okay with no hair," the Engineer said calmly, reaching up to pat his own, near-bald head. "I mean, now Sarge can't exactly call you a Hippie no more, right?"

"MMMPH!" the Pyro agreed loudly, weakly raising a bandaged fist in the air as he lay helplessly on his bed. Although the fire lover's mask was _finally _off, it was still impossible to see his (or was it her?) face due to the thick layers of bandages that covered the Pyro's body from head to toe. "Mmmnya mmmph gmmph mmmm…"

"Aw, thanks Bob," the Boy said sweetly, perking up as he smiled cheerfully at the Pyro. "I guess you're right…but still! It was downright rude of the prat to take food right out from under my nose, and I will not apologize for that! Besides," he added hastily, shrinking slightly under the Engineer's stern stare, "I didn't hit him _that _hard. My arms are weaker than the Scout's, so he'll definitely _live_…"

"Um, Tiny Engineer?"

"Yes, Mr. Heavy, my _dashing _hero?" The Boy grinned at the Heavy. "What can I do you for?"

"Um…" The Heavy's mind went blank.

"BAH! Schnap out of it, you ideeot!" The Medic snapped his fingers in front of the large Russian's face, yanking the Heavy back to alertness.

"OH! Right!" The Heavy shook his head and frowned. "Um, Tiny Engineer, do not say such things! Medic did all important work in saving you!"

"Well, you're all dashing and heroic in my books," the Boy explained with a light laugh. "I mean, because of that icky BLU Scout and creepy BLU Spy, I could have been hurt even worse than I am now! It's because of you that I haven't been sent Elsewhere, you know? I'm thankfully alive and kicking…"

"It is unfortunate that I cannot say the same for our Demoman," a new, accented voice said quietly. All eyes then turned towards the door, where the RED Spy quietly walked in, smoking a cigarette. The Medic nearly went into convulsions at the ashes that fell onto his nice clean floor, before he walked up to the Spy, yanked the cigarette out of the European's mouth, and dropped the offending stick into the drain of a nearby sink.

"No smoking in my vorkplace, dummkopf," the German growled unpleasantly. "I just had ze floors vaxed!"

"…" The Spy stared dully at the Medic. Then, he reached into his cigarette case, pulled out yet another cigarette, lit it in front of the doctor and took a purposefully long drag. "I believe from what I've seen in our hallways," the European went on, exhaling a plume of smoke into the air as a furious Medic was forcibly held back by the Heavy, "that our dear Scotsman is on the verge of completely losing his mind. Gentlemen, he is now so inebriated that I am of the opinion that a majority of his brain cells have been destroyed beyond repair due to that acid-like swill he dares call moonshine."

"Really?" The Boy remarked curiously, jumping off the Engineer's bed as he stuck his head into the hallways. Sure enough, he spied the RED Demoman curled up into a ball in a corner, hugging his empty liquor bottle to his chest as he occasionally sucked his thumb in-between words.

"_On da goooooood ship….loh-lee-pop…_" The black Scotsman giggled and hiccupped as he crooned drunkenly. "…_s'ah sweeeeeeet trip ta deh can-dee shop…_"

"…"

"…"

"I'm of the opinion that he's actually gettin' better, Spah," the RED Engineer said simply, sipping at his coffee. "At least he ain't speakin' in tongues no more. And by god, at least he's not talking to decapitated heads like Sarge is doing now."

"_Where them bob-bons plaaaaaay…on tha' sunny beach o' Peppermint Baaaaaaaaaaay…"_

Despite his inner disgust, the RED Spy only shook his head politely, and kept his tone precise and professional. "Regardless of what I personally think of the drunkard and our Soldier," the European said calmly, "I didn't come here to talk about _them_. I need to speak to the child."

"But little Scout is taking nap on floor," the Heavy replied, helpfully poking at the Boston native's slightly stirring body. ("NEIN! Heavy, I told you NOT to touch the filthy little mongrel! GERMS!")

"I meant the _other _child," the Spy snapped. "I didn't intend to disturb anyone else here. I'll be on my way shortly, but know that my intention is to speak with our new Laborer alone. Boy—" here, the European grabbed the younger Engineer's arm "—come with me."

"Um…okay, sir…"

"Hey! Now hold on there, pardner!" The Engineer sounded incredulous and exhausted, but he straightened up immediately on his bed despite the lingering pains of his paralysis. "What the heck do ya need him alone for?"

"It is just a small matter I need cleared up," the Spy replied coolly, adjusting his tie.

Unfortunately, the Engineer wasn't convinced. "And why can't ya talk in front of all of us, Spah? What the hell's so important that ya need the Boy alone for?"

"It's not my business to pry too much into other's lives unless absolutely necessary, Laborer, and I recommend that you not pry either." With a hand still firmly on the Boy's arm, the European moved to leave, but the Engineer spoke again and he stopped.

"Dang it, Spah! Just tell us already! I'll beat you like a rented mule if I have to, I promise ya that!"

"I doubt if you can even stand on your own two feet," the Spy remarked coldly, although he said it in such a low tone that only the Boy had heard the entirety of what he had said. But realizing that the Engineer wasn't going to stop bothering him (because really, the American was so _suspicious _of him it bordered on paranoia…), the European sighed and pulled out the remains of the metal spider from his pocket, holding it in front of the Boy's face as he gauged the young child's reaction.

The effect was instantaneous—the Boy's eyes widened in genuine surprise, along with _realization_. "…oh! That—that's—"

"Take a look at this, child," the Spy said carefully, pressing the device into the Boy's hands. "What do you think of this, hmm?"

"This is—this is—"

"Ain't that the thing that was on the control point?" the Engineer interrupted, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the strange device. "The one that the BLU Spah placed to mess with our heads?"

The Spy nodded, although his eyes never moved from the Boy. "Yes…"

"T-this was the thing on the point?" the Boy stammered, his cheeks turning pink as he stared dumbly at the metal spider. "I didn't get a good look last night…I mean, I—"

_SQUIRT!_

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!" The Boy suddenly let out a howl of squeamishness as he fell over with gooey gunk all over the back of his neck and head.

"That's fer knockin' me out an' almost makin' me miss breakfast, asshole!" the Scout yelled, frowning and taking the Boy's spot on the edge of the Engineer's bed as the Boy continued to panic in discomfort on the floor.

"EEEEEEK! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!"

"Calm down, Fuckwit, it's only maple syrup," the Scout said nervously, becoming slightly unhinged at the younger Engineer's erratic refusal to calm himself. Eventually, the Boy finally ripped his top off and threw it to the ground, giving up his attempts to wipe the nasty goo off.

"I will go put this in wash for you, Tiny Engineer," the Heavy declared, bending over to pick up the shirt.

"NO!" The Boy held his palm up, which caused the Heavy to tilt his head to the side in confusion. "I caused this to happen," the younger Engineer explained, "so I'll take care of it. The laundry room is in the basement, right?"

"Da…"

"'Kay." The Boy stood and left the room, syrup still dripping from the back of his bandaged head as he disappeared into the hallway with his top and the metal spider in hand.

The Texan chuckled, and punched Scout lightly in the arm. "For what it's worth, Scout, that kid really is a genuinely good person, awkward as he is at times. Try to get along, will ya?"

"…meh. If he can be taken down by a renegade syrup bottle, then I guess he ain't too bad," the Scout mused, eating the rest of the Boy's food.

The Spy said nothing. However, it should be noted that he threw an angrier-than-usual glare at the Scout before he left the room, and that for the rest of the day he spoke with gritted teeth and clenched hands.

--

**A/N: Demoman. Singing a slurred version of "Good Ship Lollipop." Even MY mind has trouble processing that. You may kill me now. T-T**

**Thanks always to Charlett and yamiishot.**


	16. RED Scout Part 2

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Sixteen: RED Scout**

The obnoxiously cheerful, high-pitched sounds of bells and music echoed throughout the base. Several members of RED looked up in curiosity at the unfamiliar sound while others instead twitched and shuddered in disgust, trying to block the offensive noise by stuffing cotton in their ears. (Or, in the RED Soldier's case, by banging his shovel loudly against his head in an attempt to substitute one form of painful noise for another.)

But that only applied to the more serious—and arguably _insane_—members of the team.

Scout, who was busy taking a nap on the couch, instantly sat up and shrieked with glee as he recognized the familiar music. "ICE CREAM MAN!!!" the Boston native squealed, before he ran upstairs to his room and tore it apart in search of his piggy-bank. He found the desired object and quickly smashed it open, only to reveal the pig to be as empty as his stomach.

In a panic, he raced back downstairs and began to look everywhere for any loose change. Then, spotting the Engineer in a nearby room, he zipped over to the older man and grabbed him firmly by the front of his overalls.

"Hardhat!" the Scout yelled anxiously, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet in a panic. "Ice cream man! Outside! NEED MONEY NOW!"

"Get off me, boy," the Texan said flatly, shooing the Boston native away. "You're making me spill my beer, and mah body's still a little too stiff to be roughhousin' just yet."

"COME ON, MAN!" the Scout yelled, tugging frantically at the Engineer's gloved hand. "A buck or two ain't gonna wipe you out! I'll pay ya back, I promise! Besides, the ice cream man NEVER comes around here, and—"

"Exactly."

"…eh?" The Scout cocked his head, worried.

"Think about it," the Engineer said calmly, pulling his captive limb out of the young boy's grasp. "In all the time we've been here, have ya ever seen or heard ice cream trucks or ice cream music before? Even once?"

"…"

"…"

"…maybe? OW!" The Scout rubbed his punched arm as the Engineer withdrew his clenched hand. "What da fuck was that for?!"

"It's for many, many things, son," the Engineer replied quietly, taking a sip from his beer bottle. "But at any rate, there's no point in asking me for money."

"W-what? But…but ice cream…" The Scout's voice became smaller and smaller as the ice cream truck music slowly faded away in the background.

"Hullo, sir!" The Boy smiled happily at the Engineer as he poked his head into the room with an ice cream cone in his hand. "Ah. Hello there, pancake-snatching demon spawn," he said dryly, frowning at the Scout.

"Hi there, Fuckwit," the Scout glowered, glaring back with just as much childish intensity. His eyes then landed on the younger Engineer's strawberry ice-cream cone, and his mouth watered at the sight of the frozen treat. "H-HEY! Where did ya get that?"

"Hmm?" The Boy blinked at his cone, before he grinned widely. "Oh, you mean this little beauty here? Aha, she's my latest creation, she is! I made her this morning…with accompanied music to boot!" The Boy then pulled out a small tape player from his pockets, and pushed a small button. Seconds later, the loud, cheerful, jingle-jangle sound of nerve-grating ice cream music filled the room, not only causing the older Engineer to cringe in irritation, but also causing the Scout's jaw to hit the floor from shock.

"You—_you_—YOU—" The Scout sputtered furiously, his finger quivering a millimeter away from the young Engineer's nose. "WHY THE HELL WOULD YA PLAY THAT SONG, ASSHOLE?! You had me thinkin' there was actually some fuckin' ice cream around here!"

"Forgive me for playing on your hopes and dreams," the Boy said dryly, poking lightly at the pink ice-cream to check on its temperature. "But for me, the music is a bit of a pick-me-up. It's so cheery and uplifting, how can it be anything other than sheer joy to the human ear?"

"Just gimme that!" Snatching the cone from the Boy, the Scout tried to take a lick of the strawberry ice cream…only to get tackled to the ground a second later by the shrieking, horrified Boy.

"ACK! NO, SCOUT!" the younger Engineer shouted, straddling the Scout as he pinned him to the ground and wrestled the ice cream out of the Boston native's hand. "DON'T EAT IT YOU FOOL OR ELSE YOU'LL GET HUUUUUUURT…!!!"

"…huh?" Slightly dazed, the Scout blinked in confusion and discomfort as the Boy continued to sit on his (empty) stomach. "What the hell are ya talkin' about, Fuckwit? Did ya poison it or somethin'?"

The older of the two Engineers snorted. "Not really," he drawled, reaching over and yanking the Boy off of the Scout's stomach (because the position of the two young men was really starting to look awkward). "Shorty over here was suppose ta help me experiment with that weird metal thing-a-ma-bob that Spah found a while back…but he kinda got sidetracked by Demoman."

"You make it sound so criminal, sir," the Boy pouted, snatching the empty beer bottle from his superior and tossing it to the side. "I was just having a jolly good conversation with him, that's all…"

"What exactly do ya mean by sidetracked?" the Scout asked suspiciously. "Fuckwit, what the hell did you do?"

"Oh, you know," the Boy laughed sweetly, although there was a slight undercurrent of nervousness in his tone. "Mr. Demoman and I were talking—well, _I _was talking, and he was just sort of sitting there, sleeping—and I got this idea after seeing all the explosives on Mr. Demoman's desk. Then, I remembered how much Mr. BLU Heavy liked eating all those sandwiches, and how much I liked ice cream and cakes and cupcakes and pudding. Mmmm, pudding…"

The Bostonian raised a curious brow. "What sorta idea did ya have that involved all those sweets?"

"Well…" The Boy twiddled his thumbs. "The ice cream…might…kind of…_explode_ if you eat it, or drop it when it's all melted and such. "

"…"

"…"

The Scout's eyes went from the Boy, to the ice cream, and then back to the Boy. "…DUDE."

"Now, I know what you're thinking," the Boy said quickly, hiding behind the Engineer as he clutched at his ice cream protectively. "You're thinking, 'There's no guarantee that the chaps on the other end will even eat strawberry ice cream!' You're probably thinking I should destroy it! Am I in the right ballpark, gent?"

"No, not really," the Scout admitted. "I was thinkin' more along the lines of you being a psycho freak who likes ta make explosive dairy treats. Seriously, you could have been trying to find out what that weirdo spider thingie was, but nooooooo! You waste all this time makin' one cone of explosive ice cream!"

"That's not true!" the Boy spat defensively. "For your information, I have _thirteen_ tubs of this ice cream in the basement freezer, and they're all ready to be snuck into the enemy base! I asked Mr. Spy to take them there, but he just slapped me and said all these mean things to me…" The Boy began to chew nervously at his thumb, nearly ripping the nail off with his teeth from his anxiety . "He called me an idiot, sir! AN IDIOT! I'm not an idiot…am I?"

"Uh, _yeah. _Ya actually kinda are," the Scout said loudly, cutting in before the older Engineer could open his mouth. A heartbroken look of despair immediately shadowed the Boy's face, causing the Engineer gave Scout a dark glare.

"Scout!"

"What? Don't look at me like that, Hardhat! You know it's true!"

"Goddang it…" The Engineer rubbed a hand over his face, simultaneously pulling his goggles down until it hung around his neck. "Scout, forget it, will ya? Just go and get ready to leave. I'm gonna get changed and—"

"Huh? Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-wait-WAIT!" Pulling himself out of his feelings of self-woe, the Boy glanced up at the Engineer in shock. "W-where are you going? Do I need to pack a suitcase? How come you didn't tell me that we were going to new places? Am I being punished for not telling everything?! Because if that's the case, I'm sorry!" He grabbed the front of the older man's shirt and attempted to shake some sense into the older man (attempted being the key word, as the Boy was so much smaller than the Texan was).

"We're just gettin' low on supplies, shorty," the Texan explained gruffly, tugging the Boy's hands off and sitting him down like a child on the nearby couch. "Me and Scout here are gonna head to town and get some food and comestibles for the team, so stop overreactin' will ya?"

"But—but why do you have to go and leave me all alone?!"

The Engineer frowned and crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance. "Now you listen here, sonny. Both RED _and _BLU are in a fine mess right about now. Yeah, the BLU Heavy is gone and a bunch of them's injured, but our Sniper's also dead. With Pyro and Sarge outta commission for at least a few weeks, we gotta stock up and prepare for the worst."

"Man, you make it sound like we're on da ropes," the Scout grumbled, switching his red shirt for a black one as the Engineer disappeared into another room to change. "Seriously, as soon as we get our new Sniper, I say we just bum rush them BLUs and knock 'em all outta da ballpark in one shot!"

"That's risky, boy," the Engineer warned. "Rushes like that could cost us all our lives, and I got a family back home to think about."

"Pfft! If you're so worried about stayin' alive, then ya shoulda just stayed home with yer wifey, old man. Me, I plan on sending those BLU muddafuckers all back home in coffins!"

The Boy blinked. "But only dead people belong in coffins, Scout. That means we have to _kill _them!"

"…that's the point, dumbass," the Scout snapped, tossing his headset aside and quickly combing his hair with his fingers before slipping his baseball cap back over his head. "We kill them, take over this piece of crap land, and get our dough. Badda bam, badda boom, badda _boink_."

"…"

"…"

"NO YOU LIE I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" the Boy yelled, covering his ears as he shook his head fiercely. "There's more to this, I know it! The Announcer wouldn't—she wouldn't—she promised—YOU LIE, SCOUT! YOU LIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEE!"

"All right, calm down!" With a hard jerk, the Engineer (who was now dressed in civilian clothes, of all things) pulled the Boy away from the Scout and forced the young child to face him. "Look, shorty, just calm down, okay? Make more of them exploding cakes—"

"Ice cream," the Boy corrected sadly. "I also made exploding milk, too…"

"…right." The Engineer smiled uneasily, before patting the Boy on the head. "Anyhoo, just keep guard over our sentries, okay, pardner? Pyro's not fully recovered yet, so that damn BLU Spah might come creepin' around here. I told our own Spah and our Heavy to keep guard, but you never know."

"I guess." The Boy thought for a moment, the idea seriously swirling about in his head.

"Great! Then I'll see you around six in the evenin' in about three days, okay?"

"THREE DAYS? SIX IN THE EVENING?!" The Boy gaped at the older Engineer in shock. "W-what do you mean?!"

"Uhhhh…" The Engineer blinked, before he pointed to a clock that hung on the wall. "Okay. See how the little hand on this is pointed at the twelve? Well this is the six—" he pointed to the bottom number "—and when the little hand moves over to the six about…well, six times, then Scout and I will be done gettin' our supplies and then we can eat and talk and maybe even build some new level of sentries."

"BUT SIR!" The Boy suddenly looked lost and alone. "I really don't want to be here by myself—"

"Stop bein' a baby!" the Scout snapped, smacking the Boy upside the head. ("OW! Scout, you PRICK! I'll get you for that!")

"You'll be fine, shorty. Be good now!" With that, the Texan patted his head again and left the room, with the Scout following close behind.

"…" Clutching nervously at his melting, explosive ice cream cone, the Boy stood there and watched the open, empty doorway. He waddled over to the clock and manually moved the little hand to the six.

The Engineer suddenly stuck his head in the doorway, catching the Boy in the act and causing the young child flush in embarrassment. "Shorty?"

"Yeah?"

"I ain't stupid, ya know."

"I know. It was worth a shot, though."

The Texan frowned for a moment, before he smiled and shook his head. "But let me tell ya this. It's nice to know you care."

The Boy hung his head, his cheeks becoming even redder.

"…you wanna come with us, kid?" the Engineer finally asked. "Hell, I'm sure the others can keep a close look out on the sentries…and the BLU Spah can't sap them all at once, right? And—"

"Yes, I'll come with you! Thank you so much, sir!" The Boy's eyes lit up so suddenly that the older man was quite taken aback at how quickly the young child's mood changed. Slipping the yellow hardhat and goggles off of his head, the Boy ran to change his clothes, accidentally leaving the strawberry ice cream cone in the previous room.

"Slow down, shorty!" the Engineer yelled, running after the Boy as he narrowly missed crashing into a heavily bandaged Sarge. (The Scout trudged after the Texan, grumbling aloud about how the Boy was such a goddamn _baby_…)

"Where are you three maggots off to?" the RED Soldier yelled, twirling around in his wheelchair as he shook his fist at the retreating trio (which was difficult to do, given that he had a broken arm, two broken legs, anf a broken back). "We have a war to win, and we won't win it if you three are just traipsing around, doing nothing! HEY! I am addressing you, you spineless cowards! GET BACK HERE!"

But by then, the three were already headed off towards the Engineer's truck, with the Boy hurriedly buttoning down the front of a white dress shirt. The Soldier growled to himself, wondering how the team had gotten so disorderly (he personally blamed the Hippie) when he suddenly spied the ice cream cone lying innocently on a small table.

"Who, on God's green earth, left this disgusting frozen dairy product lying around?" Sarge yelled, looking around suspiciously as he picked up the ice cream with his one functioning hand. "It's melting too! Has no one in this infantry heard of cleanliness and order?!"

With that, he tossed the ice cream into the nearest trash bin and wheeled himself out into the hallway, shutting the door to the room behind him the moment the ice cream fell hard against the bottom of the trash bin.

A second later, there was a loud explosion, and the door completely flew off its hinges, slamming hard into the opposite wall as smoke drifted lazily from the demolished room.

…

…

"DAMN…THOSE…HIPPIEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"

--

**A/N: Um, before you ask, no. No, I have no idea what I wrote, so I know for a fact that it sucks so stop looking at me like that I'm just saying because I wrote it and I know it sucks. D:**

**Run on sentences suck too. T-T**

**Thanks to Charlett, yamiishot, Hunter Kitty, and Forty Two42. You guys rock.**


	17. RED Scout, BLU Scout

Disclaimer: TF2 belongs to Valve. The song _Jumpin' Jack Flash_ belongs to the Rolling Stones.

**Part Seventeen: RED Scout, BLU Scout**

Scratch, scratch. Scratch.

"_I was born in a cross-fire hurricane! And I howled at my ma in the driving rain…" _The RED Scout grinned as he sang along with the truck radio, tapping his feet loudly in time to the beat. "_But it's all right now, in fact it's a gas…but it's all right, I'm Jumpin' Jack Flash! It's a gas, gas ga—_"

Click.

"HEY!" Scout stared incredulously at the RED Engineer, who had reached over and turned the radio off without so much as one word. "I was listenin' ta dat, ya jerk!"

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

"Listen here, son," the Texan said calmly as he stared ahead at the path, "it's hard enough to drive with three people squattin' together in a two person seater. Just how in tarnation do you expect me to keep my eyes on the road when you're busy screechin' your head off?" He stepped on the gas pedal harder, just to punctuate his point.

Unfortunately, Scout didn't get it. "I was just singin' a song," the Boston native grumbled. "And very nicely, I might add. Besides, it's better than listening to Fuckwit writing on his stupid notepad thing every two seconds."

Scratch, scratch—silence.

The Boy lifted his gaze immediately from his notepad, a hurt look spreading across his child-like features. "Why would you say such a cruel, cruel thing to me?" the younger Engineer asked, staring at the Scout with round, innocent eyes. "I haven't said a single derogatory word to you since we left the base. I even stayed quiet while you undertook that atrocious _thing _you dared to call singing!"

"Just what're ya tryin' ta say?" Scout growled, narrowing his eyes dangerously at the Boy. "You tryin' to start a fight? You want me to finish off what dat pussy BLU Scout did ta yer head?"

"…"

"…"

The younger Engineer smiled at the Scout with saccharine sweetness. "All I'm saying," he said in a too-polite voice, "is that you can sing all you want when we reach our destination. That's all."

"Yeah, right." The Scout snorted in disbelief, before reaching over and plucking the notepad straight out of the unsuspecting Boy's hands. "What'cha writing about, anyways? This some faggy little diary or something…?"

"OY! Give that back, you prat!" The Boy tried to snatch his book back, scrabbling wildly at the Bostonian in his attempts to retrieve his precious notes. However, the Scout had longer (and stronger) arms than the Boy, and the younger Engineer was forcibly pushed back with only one hand while the Scout thumbed through the pages, trying to make sense of the Boy's handwriting.

"Dude, what the hell is this shit?" A look of disgust quickly crossed the Scout's face, and he stared at the flushed Boy incredulously. "You write like a fuckin' _girl_. The only people I know who write like this are my mom and grandma, and even their writing isn't this gay-looking."

"I took calligraphy when I was younger!" the Boy said defensively, his face becoming redder and redder as he crossed his arms and pouted. "It's nothing to be ashamed about, and it is certainly not—not _gay!_ Am I right, sir?"

The young Englishman stared at the Engineer hopefully, his eyes practically pleading with the older man to back him up. But the Texan merely shook his head and sighed.

"_Calligraphy, _shorty? Shoot, you'd have been better off getting caught up in a few more sciences. I mean really…_calligraphy_? Dang…"

The Scout snickered as the Boy's face fell, before he looked over the girlish writing on the pages again. "Shit, there ain't nothin' but numbers and creepy spider drawings here anyway. That's so LAME."

"Machines need numbers to function, pardner," the Engineer cut in warningly, his lips thinning slightly as he swerved the wheel to avoid a passing truck. "Shoot, nearly all of engineering is about numbers and concepts and designs. You'd be in a mighty fine pickle if you're an Engineer who can't do basic mathematics." The Texan paused, before he turned to the Boy with a slightly worried look. "You, ah, you _do _know some basic mathematics, right kid?"

"Of course, sir! I'd be a terrible Engineer if I didn't! Why do you ask—ask—DARN YOU, SCOUT!" The Boy, who was still in the midst of trying to steal his notepad back from the Scout, let out a shriek of frustration as the Boston native dangled the book rather teasingly over his head in a childish manner. "Give it back! It has all of my most important calculations and observations in it! I'll wither up and _die _if anything happens to it!"

"Oh?" The Scout blinked at the notepad, before giving the Boy a wicked smile. "Wither up an' die, eh? Well, if that's the case…" He opened the car window and held the papers outside in a menacing manner, all while the Boy flailed helplessly in the background.

"No! Stop it, you insane ruffian! STOP! _SIR_, _STOP HIM, PLEASE!_"

"Would you two knock that off?!" the Engineer snapped, his hands gripping the steering wheel just a _bit _too tightly for comfort. "If you boys don't calm down, I'll just dump you two off on the side of the road and you can WALK the rest of the way to town!"

"…"

"…"

"Aww, you'd never do that ta me, Hardhat," the Scout declared, grinning mischievously at the older man before throwing a glare at the Boy. "We're teammates, ya know? Fuckwit, on the other hand…well, I don't exactly mind if ya throw _him_ out…"

"Jerk," the Boy grumbled, grabbing his notepad and slipping it back under his shirt before he smiled sweetly at the Engineer. "You wouldn't do that to me, would you, sir?"

The Texan snorted. "It all depends on my mood with you two boys. Don't push your luck."

"Oh, come on, man!"

"But sir…!"

"Be quiet and let me drive!" the Engineer shouted, before turning his attention back to the road.

Several minutes passed, before the Scout spoke again. "Can't you drive any faster than this? God, I _run _faster than you drive, old man."

"My truck, my speeds. If you don't like it, git out."

"I'm just sayin' that it's gonna take freakin' forever if you keep going at this pace!" The Boston native leaned over the side of the driver's seat and stared at his watch. "We'd already be halfway there by now if you'da let me drive…"

"My driving is just fine," the Engineer said, proud of himself. "And I happen to be making very good time, for your information."

"Yup! Nobody can drive ten-miles-per-hour like you, sir!" the Boy chirped happily, a response that completely sent Scout over the edge.

"OOH! YOU! GIVE ME THAT!" The Bostonian angrily grabbed the wheel from the Engineer and tried kicking the older man into the passenger seat. ("HEY! Git the hell off me, boy!") The furious Texan landed a hard punch to the young boy's face in response, and soon the front end of the truck had become an all-out brawl.

"Ehh…" The Boy inched his way to the side door and watched them from a not-too-far-and-not-very-safe-distance. "Um, sir? Scout?" he choked out nervously, his eyes frozen on the large garbage truck zooming towards them. "I know that in America, the cars and highways are built differently and all that, but…I think we're in the wrong lane…"

Neither the Engineer nor the Scout answered him—the two were still focusing their energies on beating the other to a pulp and trying to strangle one another, all while the Boy became paler and paler as the truck drove closer and closer…

"SIR! SCOUT! I said we're in the wrong—AHH!"

The Boy screamed, the truck now only a few feet away from them. Clambering over the bodies of the Engineer and the Scout, the Boy quickly grabbed the wheel and immediately swerved them around the honking garbage truck, slipping back into the correct lane and awkwardly braking the car into a stop in a dirt side road.

Meanwhile, the Engineer and the Scout watched, dumbstruck, as the huge garbage truck rushed mere inches away from their side of the vehicle.

For a moment, there was silence.

"…"

"…"

"Oh fuckin' son of a fuckin' bitch." The Scout ran a hand through his hair and gulped nervously. "Did you—did you just _save _us, Fuckwit?"

The Boy didn't immediately answer—he was still trying to figure out what exactly had happened. (But undeniably, that had been one of the most unique experiences of his life. He made a mental note to write down the whole scene later on in his notes…)

"…" The Engineer sat there, stupefied. However, he soon regained his ground and slapped the Scout hard upside the head. "You almost wrecked my truck and KILLED us, boy!" he snarled at the Boston native. "I might be a man of science, but that don't mean it's any cheaper to fix a busted car once it's…well, busted! And you can't bring people back from the dead! This ain't no game!"

"…?" The Boy stared at the Engineer questioningly, but his look went unnoticed.

"How the hell is it my fault, Hardhat?! If ya hadn't driven like a hundred-year-old granny, and had just let ME drive, this wouldn't have even happ—"

"…hehehehe…"

The Texan and the Bostonian suddenly fell silent. Both caught sight of the Boy, who was now giving the two of them a very unique, playful smile.

"…shorty? What's goin' on in that head of yours?"

"Um, yeah, Fuckwit. Why'ya smilin' like that?"

"…"

--

"WHEE!" The Boy laughed as he pounded on the gas pedal harder, the speedometer almost reaching up to one hundred and ten. He had his head sticking out the window, his tongue flapping in the breeze like a dog who was getting his first car ride. "I LOVE DRIVING!" he cheered excitedly. "DON'T YOU GUYS? ISN'T THIS FUN? BACK AT HOME, ERIK AND BOB NEVER LET ME DRIVE!"

"GEE, I WONDER WHY?!" the Engineer yelled in terror. Both he and the Scout were now squished in the passenger seat of the truck, hanging on for dear life. "SHORTY! I THINK MAYBE YOU SHOULD SLOW DOWN!" The older man had to scream above the wind rushing into the car from the Boy's open window, but even then, the younger Engineer wasn't able to hear him properly.

"HUH? WHAT DID YOU SAY, SIR?!"

"HE SAID TO STOP GOING SO FAST, YOU ASSHOLE!!!" the Scout yelled.

"WHAT'S THAT? MR. HEAVY LIKES TO EAT MEDIC'S MOLES?" the Boy shouted back, the wind blocking his hearing. "THAT'S NOT TRUE! MR. HEAVY LIKES SANDWICHES!"

"LOOK OUT!" the Engineer shrieked, just as a blue blur sped towards him. The Boy didn't see this however, and a second later…

_WHUMP!_

There was a loud scream, but the sound faded as quickly as it appeared. The Boy continued to speed on, with the Scout and Engineer attempting to hang on for their lives.

--

**Earlier…**

The BLU Scout sighed as he and the BLU Sniper rode towards town in the Sniper's truck. They had been driving for quite some time, but the Australian marksman had barely offered even eight words in decent conversation, and the wheat-blond boy was staring to find himself a _bit _bored.

In the end, he had to default to his standard form of entertainment: Annoying the hell out of the nearest living thing available.

"...are we there yet, wombat?"

"No."

"...are we there yet now?"

"No."

"...are we there yet _now?_"

"No."

"…are we there ye—"

"No." Before the Scout could open his mouth again, the Sniper quickly shot a hand out and pinched the young boy _hard _on the cheek, causing the BLU Scout to shriek in pain as the Australian quietly said, "Look, mate. We're not there yet. And at the rate yer going, we'll never get there if ya don't stop asking me that question. Am I making myself _clear_?" The Sniper pinched harder at the wheat-blond's flesh, and it took some effort on the Scout's part to nod his head. "Good."

The marksman released his grip, and the Scout immediately cradled his injury in his hand, glaring at the older man with a pout that spoke volumes about his anger…and his childishness.

"Y'jerk," the BLU Scout grumbled, rubbing at his bruised cheek. "Didn't have ta do that, y'know…"

For a moment, no further words were exchanged as the two men continued to ride in silence. Then, the Scout peered up at the Sniper slowly, and poked at the marksman's arm.

"Wombat?"

"…what?"

"Are we…_not_…not there yet?"

"…" Against his better judgement, the Sniper shut his eyes, momentarily debating whether not not he should just gut the young boy with his kuriki or do what the BLU Medic normally did and scream at the thing at the top of his lungs. But before he could make his decision, he suddenly felt the car jerk forward, causing the duo to yelp as they slammed back into their seats.

"W-what was THAT?!" the Scout gasped. The Australian bit his lip.

"I'm not sure, mate, but I don't like it." He hopped out of the truck, briskly walking over to the front of the vehicle before lifting up the front hood…only to be bombarded by a hurricane of smoke. The Sniper coughed, removing his shades as he waved the offensive smoke away with his hat. "Crikey! It's all burnt out!"

"W-hat is?"

"The engine!" he snapped. "Bloody hell…now we'll NEVER get to town. And there ain't a mechanic here for miles." The Sniper grumbled, wishing that the BLU Engineer was with them (and sadly that wasn't going to happen, as the man was stuck in the medical bay under the delusion that he was a bunny) before he turned warily towards his companion. "Say, Scout…you wouldn't happen to _somehow_ know how to repair cars, would you?"

"…"

"…"

The Scout crossed his arms over his chest. "DUDE. What do _you _think?"

"Ugh." The BLU Sniper hung his head. "I can't believe this is happening. We'd be better off hitchhiking than this."

"Hitchhiking…?" The Scout trailed off, blinking curiously. Then, a look of realization crossed his eyes. "OOOOOH! I get it, wombat! You mean like this, right?" The wheat-blond stuck his leg out onto the road, grinning cheesily as he spotted a car that was speeding _unnaturally quickly _towards them.

"AHH! Scout, have ya lost your bloody marbles?!" the Sniper yelped. "Git yer leg back here!"

"Oh, come on, dude! My mom did this when me and my bros were stuck in this road after our car broke down, and like, this HUGE limo stopped by! Who's ta say it won't work here?"

The Australian's eye twitched. "Listen kid, there's several things wrong with tha' theory o' yers. Mainly this one—your sex organs dangle, and that's the difference between you and yer mum."

"…" The Scout tilted his head. "I don't get it."

A sigh. "I didn't think ya would…"

"Here comes a car now!" The wheat-blond smirked. "Hey! Over here! HEY!" He waved towards the driver, sticking his leg out further as he waited for the driver to stop.

…

He didn't stop.

--

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, OW! Ooh! Eep!" The BLU Scout cringed in pain as the Sniper grudgingly wrapped his foot up in some cloth from one of his spare shirts. "F-fuckin' jackasses," the Scout sniffed, trying to hold back his tears.

"I tried to tell you, mate—"

The Scout sent a death-glare at him.

"Ah, never mind."

--

**A/N: Sorry 'bout the delay. Trying to balance this story with another.**

**Anyhoo, thanks much to Charlett, yamiishot, MasterMillerLITE (I might squeeze in the energy drink suggestion somewhere. Thanks for the advice!), Hunter Kitty, Forty Two42, and Deathstroke the Terminator. You guys are cool for reading this.**


	18. Civilian, The Baker

Disclaimer: Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve.

**Part Eighteen: The Baker (Civilian, Part One)**

Myrtle May read through her latest letter three times, trying to see if she could salvage the sad remainder of what was left before attempting to write all over again. So far, she wasn't really having much luck, because after several minutes of constant revision, many parts were overwritten in black ink, and the rest was edited with smearing pencil marks that completely dominated the rest of the paper.

_Dear grandpa,_

_Thanks for trying to set up a blind date with that tailor, but please don't worry about me. I'm a big girl now, after all. (Bullshit – I'm afraid of the dark and still sleep with my old stuffed bunny rabbit.)_

_I don't mind being alone. (I hate hate HATE it.)_

_I've got Cousin Joe and Cousin Polly Anne to keep me company, don't forget. (I can tolerate Joe, but I think Polly Anne's a stuck up little slut and I hope she falls into a nest of flesh-eating ants someday.) _

_I like being a baker. (I find it so depressing – the customers are ungrateful pigs who get uppity if I let the bread rise just a **little **too long, or if the icing is just a **little **too sweet. Pigs, every single one of them)._

_I enjoy my solitude in this nice, quaint little town. (I'm so bored here—sometimes, I don't even think I'm alive.)_

_I'm begging you, grandpa. Please don't arrange for me to go on more blind dates. (I'd die of embarrassment admitting I'm such a __**FAT **__**FREAK**__ that my date has to know nothing about me before even agreeing to meet me.)_

_Really, grandpa. Don't you worry about me. (I'll probably end up as a crazy fat cat lady dying alone on my bed, no one noticing until the meowing of my cats drives the neighbors crazy and the police break down the door to find my rotting bloated corpse…)_

Myrtle May crumpled the letter, tossing it dejectedly to the floor. This, she told herself quietly, was not the time to dwell and brood over her bleak and less-than-prosperous future. She still had cakes and other delicacies to bake, and far be it for her to complain. Business was business, after all, and she had to take every single order she could get.

This was why she was currently bent over the counter with a pencil in her hand, checking off the ridiculous amounts of bread that two men had ordered just a few days prior.

She sighed—every month or so, she'd get these insane orders, always from the same two men. A bald, rugged man from Texas who constantly seemed to be smiling, and a foreigner (Australian, perhaps?) who wore a strange hat and was usually cordial _enough_. Both men always came at different times of the day, but each of them always ordered at least several months worth of bread, always with a request for the order to be completed within at a week at most.

_Of course I'll bake one hundred and ten loaves of bread for just the two of you, _Myrtle May thought dryly, pressing the tip of her pencil just a little bit harder than necessary against her checklist as she continued to take account of her orders. _I mean, I clearly have SO MUCH time on my hands. It's not as if I have to bake ANYTHING ELSE for the people of this town, right? _

…_jerks._

The scent of freshly baked pastries soon reached her nose, and she quickly got up and rushed to the oven, slipping the oversized mitts over her hands as she reached past the fire and grabbed the tray of sweet-smelling cranberry muffins and cinnamon rolls. Inhaling the aromatic scents, Myrtle May smiled as she tipped the muffins into the "free samples" basket and set the warm cinnamon rolls aside, with the icing still melting on the top.

No matter how bad she was feeling, the smell of delicious pastries always brightened her day.

"Oooooh, it's the most BEAUTIFUL thing I've ever seen!"

"Hmm?" Blinking, Myrtle May stuck her head out slightly over the side of the counter, squinting her eyes as she caught a glimpse of two young boys standing just outside her shop. They were both holding large paper bags filled to the brim with canned goods, and they both appeared to be the same age. However, the boy in the baseball cap was frowning rather unpleasantly at the boy wearing the cap and black vest, the latter of which was in the midst of staring at her display window in awe.

"Doesn't all those cakes look appetizing, chap?" the boy in the vest sighed happily as he stared at the dozens of sugary delicacies set out before him. Myrtle May cocked her head to the side curiously—the boy's voice was surprisingly tinged with a British accent. "It just makes you want to reach out _eat _one right on the spot, don't you agree?"

The boy in the baseball cap shrugged nonchalantly. "They're okay, I guess. But lemme tell ya somethin' Fuckwit…the stuff my mom used ta make is a bazillion times better than whatever the fat chick makes."

"…fat?"

"Yeah, dude. I mean, Myrtle May is nice and all, but she's fuckin' big. She's a big, horsey-lookin' girl. She's built a lil' funny, an' she looks like her flesh is strapped ta her body, just ta keep it from falling off!"

_WHAT?!_

The baker's jaw dropped in disbelief, before her features darkened considerably. Slowly, her hand began to inch towards the bottle of powered laxatives, and she practically _willed _the boys to come in and sample her baked goods…

"Don't be so mean, you prick!" the boy in the vest whispered harshly, pursing his lips in disapproval. "Come on, let's just go and bring these cans to Sir. My arms are starting to get tired."

"Hardhat's metal parts ain't gonna come in for a few more days, moron," the boy in the baseball cap snapped irritably. "That's why we always stay in town fer three days. He's just checking up ta see if for once, his parts actually came in on time. But they're usually late, so don't be in a fuckin' rush. Besides…" A small blush suddenly appeared on the cheeks of the boy in the baseball cap. "I kinda wanna go see Polly Anne right now…"

_You can't be serious_. Myrtle May forced herself not to gag at the mention of her more promiscuous cousin. _Polly Anne? HER?! By god, I hope the loudmouthed boy falls into that nest of flesh-eating ants as well! BAH!_

"…" The boy in the vest blinked curiously, and the baker noticed that he looked absolutely confused as to what the other boy meant by the words _hot _and _easy_. "Um, I don't quite understand why you want to see this Polly Anne so much. And every time you mention this female, your face turns all red. Are you getting sick? Is this Polly Anne some kind of disease that makes you sick, and the main symptom is being red in the face?"

"…"

"…"

"I'm leavin', Fuckwit."

"What? What did I say?" The boy in the vest stared at his friend incredulously as the loudmouth spun on his heel and left. "What the heck did I say? …you know what? Fine! Leave! I don't need you! I don't need anybody—HEY!" The boy in the vest suddenly caught sight of a small sign on the bakery display window, and his eyes widened in childish excitement. "Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! FREE MUFFINS YAY!~"

Myrtle May scarcely had time to prepare herself, and before she knew what was happening, the boy in the vest was already in her shop, grabbing the cranberry muffins by the handful and gulping them down greedily.

_Chew, chew, chew_. "Sweet heavens above," the boy in the vest mumbled through a mouthful of pastry. "This is jolly good…" _Chew, chew, chew._

"H-hey! HEY!" Myrtle May finally regained her senses in time to snatch the sample basket of muffins out of the boy's grasp. "What do you think you're doing, you little punk?" she growled, giving him the iciest glare she had in her arsenal. "That's ONE sample per customer!"

"Oh!" The boy gulped nervously, before giving her an apologetic stare. "My apologies, miss! It's just that they were so delicious and no one can bake like _that _where I live and I just really love sweets and…well, I'm sorry." The boy gave himself a fake little knock on the head, self-deprecating himself in an obnoxiously cute sort of way (at least, that was what Myrtle May personally thought). "But of course, I give my compliments to the chef!"

Despite herself, the baker found herself smiling. "Why that's very nice of you."

"They were very lovely to the taste buds…all eight of them!"

"That's so sweet—wait a minute! Eight?!" She stared at the basket in shock, but sure enough, eight muffins were missing from the pile. "Oh my goodness…" Myrtle May turned to the boy, her expression one of sheer disbelief. "How—how on earth did you eat eight _large_ muffins in three seconds?!"

The boy laughed, and scratched the back of his head. "Ahahaha. Well…um…oooh, look at all those utensils!" he said quickly, changing the subject as he caught sight of the many pots, pans, rolling pins, and oven sheets by the baker's side. "You must be cooking something delicious, and a _lot _of it, from what I'm seeing here! I'm impressed…"

"Well it's not…I mean, I _will_ be…" Myrtle May smiled, more pleased with the boy's compliments then she wanted to be. "I'm in the middle of a big order, but I've handled things like this before, mister…um…" She frowned. "I'm sorry, but I didn't catch your name…"

"My what?" the boy replied absentmindedly.

"Your name. You know…your _name_? I'm Myrtle May, but you already knew that…"

"…oh!" The boy's eyes widened. "I get it! My _name _name! Wow, it's been a long time since I actually used _that_! I mean, what with the guys calling me Hippie, Shorty, Laddie, Laborer…I actually forgot I had a real name there…"

Myrtle May blinked. "You…forgot your name?"

"Only for a moment." The boy grinned and grabbed her hand, pumping it up and down enthusiastically. "I'm Charlie! Charlie Brown!"

"…"

"…"

Myrtle May stared down at the floor, noting that underneath the boy's feet, there was an old newspaper page that had a _Peanuts _comic strip on the top. "…" Charlie Brown, huh?"

"Yup! At your service, miss!"

"…heh…" Myrtle May felt the corners of her lip twitch upwards. If the boy was lying about his name (and she was almost certain that he was), well, at least he was being _funny _about it. And his humorous charm was starting to get to her in a good way. She reached out and patted the boy on the head, murmuring quietly, "Tell you what, Charlie. I'll let you eat more cranberry muffins—"

"YAY!"

"—if you do me a favor and set up my pots and pans while I go and get some more yeast from the back."

"Aye-aye Cap'n!" The boy grinned, saluting her before proudly marching off to where her pots and pans were. As Myrtle May disappeared into the backroom, he held up one of her frying pans and, in a moment of lightheartedness, swung it around like a sword…

…only to hear a loud _BANG!_ from behind him.

"MERDE!"

"Huh?" The boy quickly spun around, removing the pan from in the air to reveal an angry, maskless Spy growling at him, the red, angry imprint of the frying pan now on his face.

Not that the younger Engineer actually knew he was in danger, of course.

"Mr. Spy!" he exclaimed cheerfully, hugging the European around the waist. "I didn't know you were in town! When did you get here? You weren't in the truck…" The boy then stepped back, taking in the Spy's strangely casual appearance, and the fact that his mop of dark brown hair and blue eyes were clearly visible now that he wasn't wearing his usual red balaclava. "You know, Mr. Spy, you should go maskless more often. You look _good_!"

"What a relief to know that you find my physical appearance so pleasing," the Spy said flatly, before he cringed and rubbed his face. "Ow…"

"Are you okay, Mr. Spy?" Worried, the boy examined the European's imprinted face. "Did something hit you? Looks like it hurt a lot…what happened to you?"

"YOU, that's what happened to me," the Spy grumbled. "I should have known better than to come to town on a day like today. First you plague me with trying to find out why you are incapable of performing even the simplest tasks, and then you smack me in the face when I least expect it!"

"OY! I didn't smack you! Your face just got in the way of Miss Myrtle May's frying pan!" the younger Engineer cried defensively.

"Pardon me for putting my head behind the oversized _boulanger's_ cooking product," the European mocked sarcastically.

"Aww, that's very sweet of you, Mr. Spy! Apologizing like that…" The boy smiled, impressed.

"I was being sarcastic, you ignorant little twit with the obviously made-up name."

"…well, you should do it more often, it's very nice. And what makes you think my name was made up? Hey…how long have you been standing there anyway?"

The Spy sighed, and rubbed his temples. "Let us not indulge in meaningless conversations, oui? And also, I wasn't trying to be nice."

"It sure sounded like it to me," the boy replied sweetly.

"It wasn't!" the Spy snapped, before grabbing the boy by the arm and dragging him out of the bakery. "Come, child Laborer! We will take our leave, now."

"Huh? But where are we going?"

Here, the European smiled mischievously and wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulder. "We are going make you look less imbecilic!" he explained a bit too cheerfully. "I must admit, little boy…you looked much better when you had that long mop of follicles you called hair. So…we're going to get you some more hair."

The boy blinked innocently. "…we can get more hair? Without actually growing it?"

"Mm-hmm~"

"Oh." The younger Engineer looked thoughtful, before he suddenly frowned and turned his gaze towards the room where Myrtle May had disappeared into, chewing nervously at his thumb. "Um, can we at least wait for Myrtle May to give me her muffins? I'll feel just terrible if I leave without saying goodbye to such a nice lady and all…"

"Hmm?" The Spy threw a quick, indifferent glance at the backroom, before he snorted. "The _gros_, oversized _boulanger_? Please, child. If you have to be polite to a woman, at least make sure there's some benefit in it for you."

"Huh? What does that mean?"

"I'll explain it to you another day. Now…to the wigmakers!"

"W-wait! ACK!" The boy yelped as he was forcibly dragged off by the maskless Spy, and he was pulled out of the doorway just as Myrtle May reappeared with a tray full of bread dough and cookies in hand.

"Oh, Charlie! I brought something I think you might…Charlie?" The baker's eyes scanned her shop, a hurt expression slowly making its way across her face. "C-Charlie? Where'd you go…?"

--

**A/N: EW. WOMEN IN TF2. I MUST BE INSANE. D:**

**Thanks much to Charlett, yamiishot, Hunter Kitty, Forty Two42, and Deathstroke the Terminator. You guys make me a happy panda!**


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